She wears sunglasses, but as she sits down, she pushes them on top of her head, taking a deep, weary breath and letting it go. And the world stops spinning. And all the oxygen made by every tree in that forest is sucked away, leaving me light-headed. Because I have never seen such a beautiful woman in my life. Not in real life, when I was little. Not in books. Nowhere. Her eyes. Her eyes are the same green as ivy leaves after a rainfall. Deep and alive. Bright and unforgettable. The sort of green that heralds spring and promises rebirth. Glorious, vibrant, and wide, with sweeping, dark lashes,
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