He said today that my mother used to tell him “Oh, she talks so much!” >
>That’s how he says it. Philosophical, like he is coming to this conclusion that he’s come to thousands of times before right now, right this very second. “I suppose…That’s how anyone chancing our conversations would feel.”
“Like we’re high.” I smile.
“Or moderately insane.” And he pushes the door open, chuckling to himself about our secret greatness.
And it just…Makes me so sad.]
> She had known when all hope was lost. When my promise of salvation was fictitious. I saw it in those big blue sapphire eyes. When I looked at her with sorrow, she knew I had not come for her. I had come for myself. To seek a slither of reprieve, and I find as I watch her frame becoming consumed by the flames, she had given me it, her innocence and nativity were the lasting impressions.