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Consciousness creeps into his world like a seasoned cat burglar. Sounds, sights, sensations indefinable through the cotton wool of sleep, he feels nothing but cold.
Her touch is like firecrackers. His skin pops and glows and comes alive as she draws her fingers across it and all at once he remembers he is alive.


In the impossible monochrome grey of the hotel room he draws himself up and searches for something familiar. The cold light heralds the sun before its regal entrance, and for a few short minutes, the world plays like antique celluloid.
Her smile is like the sunrise. As he turns to see her watching him, colour pours from every corner of the room like Dorothy landing in Oz and all at once he remembers that he loves her.


“Good Morning” she says, as he drifts back to sleep.


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Good Morning
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