You bought me white chocolate with port wine. I have never known such a thing. The world is a truly weird place; part of me would like to think. Part of me imagines it. Another part touches your hand, afraid you might evaporate. Dissolve like dreams.

Putting down Exit to Eden, chilled coke in the glass next to me. Today was so terribly hot, I had barely showered and then my hair was soaking again from perspiration. That could have been your voice. I'll have to imagine it, laughing together with you.

You told me there is something unique about the books I fancy reading, my favourite paintings, poetry and words. And we laugh again because you're just so damned obstinate about liking me. It makes me feel fuzzy.

And you even like my little scribbles, millennia of fantasy and slight boredom, the escapism of an old mind in a young body. Today, I wrote a letter to my aunt, on the other side of it, a drawing of a proud creature. Hand clutched to chest, wings spread, hair flowing. You drew an inexplicable gaze and justified yourself; that's me!

I wonder what I'd do without you.

You brought me tears, pain and dreams of love. Whenever I was scared of myself, you gave me another place to hide in, another wall to crawl behind, yet another reality to sink through. Your warm whispers, your soft hands, beautifully deep eyes, smile like ashes and grey clouds. Sweet pink lips. Feeling joy, I laugh again while you're staring back at me in the mirror.

I say, this is an ode to the one I have loved the least.

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