“What do you see when I look at you?”
“What do you see, Joe?”
“You,” he whispered brokenly. “I see you, Molloy.”
“You see love,” I corrected softly, releasing his hand to cup his stubbly cheek. “You see acceptance.” He swallowed but didn’t reply. “We’re mirrors, Joe,” I told him, taking his hand and placing it on my cheek. “Everything you feel for me is reciprocated. It’s mirroring back at you.” “Molloy.”
— Dec 26, 2024 05:06AM
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