I wrapped my arms around him as tight as I could. He was my Romeo in black jeans and this story had just as much a chance of dying as tragic a death as the original. And still, all of the love I had for him in my heart spilled over, filling every part of me with those familiar warm fuzzy feelings. I’d been “in love” before, sure. The difference here was, I loved him, all of him, and there’d be no easy getting over it this time. Every part of me wanted him, I yearned for him on the cellular level. There could be no escaping emotions of this magnitude. His good and bad, dark and light, his nice
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