Death Is The Last Intimate Thing We

I Stared At Jean-claude And It Wasn't The Beauty Of Him That Made Me Love Him, It Was Just Him. It Was Love Made Up Of A Thousand Touches, A Million Conversations, A Trillion Shared Looks. A Love Made Up Of Danger Shared, Enemies Conquered, A Determination To Neither Of Us Would Change The Other, Even If We Could. I Love Jean-claude, All Of Him, Because If I Took Away The Machiavellian Plottings, The Labyrinth Of His Mind, It Would Lessen Him, Make Him Someone Else.

I Wanted To Wipe The Grin Off His Face With A Fist. I Resisted The Urge. Who Says I Have No Self-control?

Nothing Is Certain, Ma Petite, Not Even Death." - Jean-claude

A Person Likes To Think Of Himself In A Certain Way, And When Something Happens That Makes That No Longer Possible, You Mourn The Old Self. The Person You Thought You Were.

I Would Rather You Love Me, But If Not Love, Fear Will Do.