jueves, 5 de febrero de 2009


I could see him now. And I could see that he could not see me.
It was really him, no hallucination this time. And I realized that my delusions were more flawed than I'd realized; they'd never done him justice. I'd never seen anything more beautiful —even as I ran, gasping and screaming, I could appreciate that. And the last seven months meant nothing. And his words in the forest meant nothing. And it did not matter if he did not want me. I would never want anything but him, no matter how long I lived.

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