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.
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