You think you can face your longing with your defenseless heart and bare hands, then you gather what strength you have left and you find it brandishing in your eyes the gleam of the blade of memories. Sometimes you win and other times you are stabbed to death. What do you do with those feelings? Where do you go with them when your fragile heart is overflowing with them? You feel that the world has been fair to you this time after years of disappointment and you open your arms to it and find yourself embracing a mirage. When you come to, it has planted its poisoned sword in your chest. But will the vanilla scent of the Black Cloak be your only shield in this battle? Or is Ann’s signature that ends with a butterfly’s wing the same last lost memory of the One with the Eye of the Gazelles?
