Whatever will be, will be.
He tells me, with a tear in his eye, “She’s my sweetheart.”
She smiles weakly, and her eyes brighten.
He gently kisses her hand in a loving manner.
“No, I am ready.”
“Are you scared?”
“I think I’m dying.”
Whatever will be, will be.
He tells me, with a tear in his eye, “She’s my sweetheart.”
She smiles weakly, and her eyes brighten.
He gently kisses her hand in a loving manner.
“No, I am ready.”
“Are you scared?”
“I think I’m dying.”