How often do you actually remember him? You left the dessert half-eaten when suddenly his smile flashed in front of you. I do not. Instead, I devour my meals, my days, I spend engrossed in books where lovers unite in the end or don’t. Or die. Or are victorious against a tyrant. Someday I’ll know,…
I miss home. Every part of it. I wish I could go back. Why am I not going? Am I exiled? Or have I created exile in my mind? I really don’t know. The thought of going home makes me sick and the longing makes me hopeful. Do you know how it feels to be…