Is Eliza feeling even half of what I am? I don’t know. What I do know is that she’s searching for something too. It’s in her eyes. It’s in her scar. It’s in her reverence for music, which I saw all over her face when she listened to that Van Morrison song in the bar. The girl is a real believer. That she doesn’t yet believe in me is only a minor problem. If she’s the kind of person I think she is, I’ll win her over with one verse. One chorus. Maybe even one line. It’ll be a goddamn test. I’ll test her the same way she’ll no doubt test me—with a song. Because believers know the truth when they
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