I am in bed with Howard. He is lying on my left arm, which is under him. He is holding my left hand cupped in his hands very gently. He is talking to himself softly. He is looking at the many, many rows of scars from shots and blood tests. He is sorry for the pain I must endure. I feel his soft skin and like being near him. I wonder if we could forget all the pain of the past and just start over. I feel tenderness for him. He moves and the moment is over. I do not try to bring it back.