A fragment of my fiction:

I saw it in her eyes after all of this time. How had I missed it there before? This picture of her howled. Perhaps I chose to ignore it out of fear. I wanted her to stay. I wanted her to love me. In my dreams we were that couple. I sweep in easily and give her all she ever dreamed of. Somewhere entangled in her dark hair were all of my wishes. Each one was a cog in the wheel of plans I had envisioned for us. It was foolish to think it so simply. I always thought that I knew very little back then but now I realize that I may know even less in my current state. I imagine her with flaws so undefined that only I can root them out. I welcome them. She is imperfect in ways that can only be justified in the irrationality of love. To find her was a reconnaissance. It is not as if the planets aligned, with her it was something more spectacular. In her I find things everyone craves, but I’m not inclined to share. If I’m selfish then so be it. The way she speaks, her lexicon and all of her bright ideas, make me stumble. She defeats norms. She side steps my paper thin charm and forces a genuineness I was always lacking. Fact or fiction, she creeps into my mind. I tell her I rarely think of her as some sarcastic quip to make her laugh. She knows better. How does she always know better? I hope the supply of reasons why I ask myself this never runs dry.

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