The Spaces Between Your Fingers

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I place one unsure foot into the gently rocking boat and pray to God that I'm not that person that ends up falling into the water, which resembles warm honey.  I'm known for having two left feet; and even a task as simple as stepping into this boat can end disastrously.  The frosty December wind licks across my face and numbs my reddened ears as I carefully make my way onto the long and narrow boat.  I let out a sigh of relief as I sit beside Julian and wait for the boat to start moving.  Success.

The sun is out in Bruges.  It mocks me with its potential promise of warmth as our tour guide's voice rings through the speaker.  Julian puts the hood of my black, wool coat over my head and pulls me closer to him in an attempt to keep me warm.

"Happy anniversary," he breathes as we pass the beautiful buildings that line the dark water.  

"Happy anniversary," I smile in return.  And looking into his eyes, I finally feel warm in cold Bruges. 

In Bruges

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