It is a cruel thing. To be looked on as a stranger by the one who knows you best. It is cruel that I was given a taste of what my eternity could have been filled with—your smile, your pleasure, your humor—only to have it ripped away from me in seconds. It is cruel that if your memories never come back that it would only be fair to let you go. The problem is, Genevieve, that I can’t. That I never will.
