Four
hundred twenty-three moons ago she fell in love with the crinkle in the corner
of an eye and a subtle smirk. It became real when she looked into his eyes and
they invited her in without a single exchange of words. They hungered for the
understanding in her gaze. Within, he was fragile. Without, he was masked.
Hairline fractures threatened a shattered soul and when those eyes lured her
closer, she knew that her purpose must have been to help bring truth to that
crinkle and substance to that smirk. Four hundred twenty-three moons ago, under
the soft glow of ten million galaxies and three hundred billion stars, two
halves became a whole.
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