Kiss me 2.1
Déesseares from through my windowthrough my window
He offered me a present, and a future to build, without looking back.
Sometimes, at night, I still wake up. The memory of a cold shadow in the hollow of my ribs. Parquet against my back. A dark gaze that reflected me as a piece of darkness. Sometimes, it's Clara's face that surfaces, and shame, though dull now, swells for an instant like a distant tide.
But these are no longer demons. They are ghosts. And ghosts, Simon taught me, are not fought. You learn to live with their silent presence. You let them wander the corridors of the past, while you close the door of the present room.