My Cardboard Balcony

And Underneath the Bridge by Belinda Roddie And underneath the bridge, we shared a kiss while high above the ground the war began. The airships billowed dark smoke into our sore eyes as we attempted to escape. The governors of districts wanted us dead before we could reach New Eden. We were not ones who would bow so easily to feeble threats or brandished blades or cocked rifles. Whenever I kept guard at our humble campsite, I wished to hold you as you slept and ensure you that everything would be okay once we'd found our new home. Because under that bridge, we promised that we'd live and love throughout the aftermath.

The two lovers wanted to adopt. Sure, they could have a child of their own, or two, or maybe even three. But the thought of adopting warmed their fingers against their coffee cups and their cheeks against their color-matching scarves. They talked about raising a child who needed a family, bringing him or her out of a dire situation or utmost despair and sadness. A little dash of hope in a gigantic pot of emotion.