Dear D,

Dear D,

I only remember two things about you. I remember the expression on your face when they made fun of you. So dignified, and mature. So… superior. I didn’t think of it at the time, but somehow I still find it engraved on my memory. This proves how late I’ve stopped being a child, I guess. If I ever have.

And I remember when you spoke to me, two years, five months and four days ago. I don’t remember what you told me, only the beginning. Those who think that they can defeat love… It didn’t make sense to me then, but perhaps it would, now.

I have your picture but I don’t want to look for it.

Will I ever see you again and ask you what you said?

886 days later,
C.

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