1877 March 11 - Lincoln, New Mexico

Dearest Diary, as the moon hangs high and luminous in the night sky, I find myself reflecting on a day woven with the threads of companionship and introspection. Here in Lincoln, amidst the whirl of life and dust, Henry and I have discovered a rhythm that beats in tune with our own.

Today was a day less about the wild escapades and more about the subtle dance of connection that happens in the quiet moments. We wandered the town, not as outlaws or adventurers, but as two souls seeking the simple pleasures that life offers. Henry, with his ever-present charisma, has a way of turning even the mundane into something magical.

In our wanderings, we chanced upon a group of locals sharing stories under the shade of an old oak tree. We joined them, blending into the tapestry of their tales and laughter. It was in these moments, Diary, that I saw another facet of Henry – the storyteller, the charmer, a man who could hold the attention of an audience with the ease of a born performer.

But as the day meandered on, it was our quiet conversation that etched this day into my memory. Sitting side by side on a rickety old bench, watching the sun set in a blaze of glory, Henry turned to me with a question that caught me off guard.

"Tak," he asked, his voice a low rumble, "have you ever thought about what it'd be like, just to stop? To stay in one place and let the world move around you?"

I chuckled, a sound that felt like a mix of amusement and wistfulness. "Henry, my dear, for someone who's lived as long as I have, stopping isn't just a thought; it's a temptation. But then, I wouldn't have met you, would I?" He grinned, that roguish, heart-stealing smile of his, and nudged my shoulder. "Guess you're right, Tak. The world's too big and too interesting to just watch it go by."

As night descended upon us, wrapping Lincoln in its cool embrace, our conversation drifted to dreams and desires, to hopes tucked away beneath layers of bravado and adventure. In these moments, under the canopy of the night sky, our bond deepened, becoming something more profound than either of us could have imagined.

Now, as I lay beside Henry, our bodies entwined under the blanket of stars, I realize that this journey with him has become more than just a series of escapades. It's become a journey of the heart, a journey of discovering the depths of connection and the boundless realms of affection.

So, as I drift into the realm of dreams, I hold onto this feeling, this sense of belonging and understanding that Henry and I share. It's a rare treasure, a flicker of warmth in the eternal expanse of my existence.

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