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To all the night owls and midnight lovers who chase their dreams when the sun goes down. This is mine.
“No more,” I warned. She lifted a brow. “Or what?” I narrowed my eyes at her, and she grinned.
“It’s hard to trust that things that happen at night will still feel real in the morning,” I explained.
“When that feeling of home transitions from a place to a person, and then they aren’t there.”
“Go to Boston,” my dad filled in, exasperated. “Right now?” “Yes, right now. Christ, Julian.” My dad rolled his eyes. “Do you miss her or not?”

