But after three months of beautiful, stolen moments, I got stupid.

I fell for him, and I knew all too well the consequences of such lunacy. This was not the kind of boy to stick around.

I heard a faint rumbling from the closet. They were laughing at me. But I forged on, denial as my chosen weapon.

In those quiet moments when he held me just right, I allowed hope to bubble to the surface…maybe, just maybe…

After two years on a granola diet of peace and harmony, They could smell the fresh meat of emotional chaos. I had to turn the music up louder to drown out Their howling. The gypsy boy politely ignored the growing ruckus.