"The two of you romance like you're characters in Prince of Persia," she laughed.
I asked if that wasn't a game of treasure hunt.
I pronounced us vintage souls. As if poetry and music, love and romance were the charming cornerstones of just the old world we prefer being part of.
She called that LAME, spelt in all caps.
It was okay, I thought then. She did not have to understand, neither did anyone else.
It was enough that the magic sparkled in shapes of wispy stars and golden glitter between him and I when we recited each other a poem.
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