THOSE WHO SUFFER LOVE

28.04.11 . 12:50 am

We sit opposite the water at about two in the morning on a warm and weird night, watching the full moon move across the ocean, move in an out of the clouds, and you light your hundredth cigarette.

We sit close and your words come out heavy, come out slow.

'I wish I could do what you do,' you say.

'What?'

'Run away.'

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