So Klara messaged me… not so long after our first encounter. It was the day after and I’d been thinking of her for as long as she took to reach me. I’d have said something if she didn’t but this way, when it’s the girl who shows will, it’s gotten all the more enthralling. I hoped she would, she’s an avid personality, she did know how to water that sense of passion I was all out already tending to.
Each text of her spelling out the magic and the spells making me dream. A dream that more than convincing me brought a fear, of which I wasn’t sure whether the fear was of losing her or having her. Not that I dwell on any over pessimistic complexes but yeah!… I did admire all this, a lot, the dream of any dry lover that craves what he knows exists but may never appear.
But I knew there’s no heaven either. My imagination embraced her as one of those fatuous phoenixes and from us burning bright there’d come new life to both, from the change or with the end.
She showed care but was swift, that almost vampiresque scent of omnipresence, of not belonging quite truly to the hours we were spending chatting with each other. Yet unsettlement didn’t define her, but well how could one know too much of a person in so little time and such limitations of interaction. Waiting is a part of anything we do in life, only that love makes you bipolar in the ways you regard time. And I waited t know if she wanted to meet ever again or if this world I was weaving was just mine. I could wait forever for her.
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