Personal Narrative: The Holocaust Museum

He didn't seem to like the name of the museum. The “Holocaust” Museum. Just didn't seem right, ya’ know? Like they reduced it to just that and nothing else, he tried to make it seem like his opinion really didn’t mattered, but this was just their history. This was his story. Now he’s just walking alongside her, her with the fair skin that had gentle freckles the sun gave to her every now and then, bright grey eyes that had tinges of subtle brown like oak. Her hair was long, brown, and swift and her voice, sweet. She was lively and short contrasting his mourning eyes, his tall and thick stature, his blunt voice, and his unruly tightly coiled and cotton hair. He was crushing hard, but he knew her head was elsewhere, on one of the other friends
All that nervous energy that bounced in him, slammed his heart into his chest, kicked him in his stomach and fried his nerves was all gone and he felt incredibly hollow. Now his face itched from being held in a certain position and his lungs fluttered when they finally expanded. His ribcage was gone and his heart was reluctantly easing itself back to it’s normal pace. He stretched his fingers before him and considered, that maybe, maybe he was overreacting over a crush, but it was L of all people, so he stewed in it. He continued on alone, but didn't feel like walking, so he sat down before one of the films that allowed the survivors to tell their stories during the Holocaust. He half listened half pitter-pattered on his phone until someone sat close to him, he scooted over. Then he felt a very small tap on his arm. He looked up and found a faceless young woman holding this baby, this gorgeous, fat, wide eyed baby. Dark eyes, soft dark skin, and smooth curly hair. The baby gave him a gummy smile and tapped on his shoulder
Okay then, why not,” he smiled even though he had been nervously biting the inside of his mouth and his cheeks hurt.
He went to walk very slowly because the baby kept squirming in her hands and she couldn't seem to hold them right. Finally she looked at him. “Would you like to hold it?”
“It?” then Ani automatically replied, “Yes.”
Lina pressed the baby into his arms like paperwork and he cradled them like they were jewels. They started to walk again and when the baby fussed too much, he'd shush them, rocked them or look into their eyes and say hey. When he kissed them on the cheek, he realized he may have overstepped his boundaries. Pfft! Who was he kidding? He trampled the boundary. He destroyed it and he couldn’t tell if it was the acute obsession with baby was to blame. He looked and the baby and looked over at Lina. She was giving him a very weak, very open look.
“That could be your baby,” she said.
Her calm voice made the baby’s weight burn his arms.
“Uh. Ha.”
“I saw, like-” she swallowed and gasped, “like that girl you were walking with and she and you and that baby.”
Ani came to hover over her sympathetically. He tried to hint at taking the baby back. The image was coated his mind like honey. Something he didn’t