Bokelskere.no

And here we are. Two small dying things, as the world ends around us like falling autumn leaves.

I'll tell you something about true love. There's no science to it. It's natural as the sky.

Fate, I think, is a thief.

He weaves his fingers through mine, and I allow it, feel the clammy warmth of his palm against mine. Flush. Alive. Eventually I realize that I am holding on to him just as tightly as he holds on to me. And here we are: two small dying things, as the world ends around us like falling autumn leaves.

As I go, I hear her screaming my name, in a brutal, bloody way, like she's being murdered, which maybe she is. But slowly. It will take her six years to die.