“Do you really love me?” she whispers. I press my temple against the iron grate. “Yes.” There’s a pause. “That night in the phone booth, you told me you’d never been in love before. If you’ve never felt it, how do you know?” I close my eyes. I’ve got too many words and not enough ways to order them. How do I know? Because saying it aloud is as easy as breathing. Because even the mention of her name lights my skin on fire. Because she’s my first thought in the morning, and my last at night. Because I just. Fucking. Know. I swallow. “Because even though I’m unlucky with you, I feel even
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