Not all love stories begin with hearts and flowers. Mine didn’t. Instead, mine started on a day when I’d been driven into the heart of another run down town, a new start, a new day that would end with ruined lives. My love story began with a fifteen year old boy who’d looked across a chain link fence to see a girl sitting on her porch. The boy had waved, had smiled before stretching his long legs to walk on over, and introduce himself as the man I could never live without. It was my fault for not believing him. I wonder how many lives could have been saved if I’d only looked up into those big
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