He tried so hard to tell me that jumping from this rock, knowing he was about to die, was beautiful. I couldn’t see it then, but I see it now—so clearly that it steals the breath from my lungs. The beauty isn’t in the acceptance of death. It’s in the open defiance of it. What could be more beautiful than the fight to survive? “Fifty-fifty shot,” I say, smiling tearfully as I parrot the words Nick said to me in that dank, dark crypt. “Just need a little luck.” We meet over the distance, our lips locking together in a kiss so soft that it hurts. I cling to it. To him. To the knowledge that
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