I Hope,” He Replies Softly, “to Get

He Loves You, Really He Does. He'd Love You Even If It Destroyed Him. He Matches You.

I'd Once Been Fascinated By His Legend - All The Stories I'd Heard Before I Met Him. Now I Can Feel That Same Sense Of Fascination Returning. I Picture His Face, So Beautiful Even After Pain And Torture And Grief, His Blue Eyes Bright And Sincere. I'm Ashamed To Admit That I Enjoyed My Brief Time With Him In His Prison Cell. His Voice Can Make Me Forget About All The Details Running Through My Mind, Bringing With It Emotions Of Desire, Or Fear Instead, Sometimes Even Anger, But Always Triggering Something. Something That Wasn't There Before.

Time Heals All Wounds. But Not This One. Not Yet.

I Started Writing Seriously When I Was A Teenager, Around 14 Years Old.

Clouds Suit My Mood Just Fine.