Grant shuddered into Krystelle's arms. It was easier than that. Love was to live a little. And to live was something. Really something. To die was nothing. Everyone did it sooner or later. But how many people ever lived? Convention: society: fear: ignorance and a bomb-scared world had made living an almost forgotten art. But to love was to return to living. And living meant giving, and taking, and hoping, and succedding, and fighting and winning.
1967.