“I have succumbed to ennui and desperation,” he says in a low voice.
“I can hear everything that you are not saying, and the only thing I can do is stare at you with the hopelessness of a man who is about to die.
I must have loved you in a thousand lives, else, how would my eyes know so very well that you love them when they smile? How else would I know where your fountains are, somewhere so deep that no one would even think to look?
I must have been born and died a thousand lives, and every time, I must have chosen the path that led to you even if it took me through the gates of Hell. In every shadow, in every joy, every tree or scent or something as small as a particle of light – I encounter you.
I must be so close to you and so intimate that when my eyes open in the morning, it is you who is waking up. “

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