It all boils down to this moment, when she glances over her shoulder and gives me a tight smile out of friendliness, not knowing it’s me. The one who shot at her. The ex-boyfriend who would burn the world down for her. The piece of shit who could never fall out of love with her. I nearly drop to my fucking knees, staring at her little dimple and the freckles dusting her cheeks and nose. She’s truly a work of art. A masterpiece. And I’m proud to say that I was her first love.
