There was once a girl who didn’t believe in love.
When she thinks of love, she thinks of the Fitzgeralds and the days when their marriage was once without a trace of destruction. She thinks of stories about two people defying all odds once they are together. Love exists in fantasies and books, in dreams that hung through clouds and were immensely out of reach.
It most definitely didn’t exist in the world she lives in.
I wish I could write that she met a boy who knocked her off her high pedestal and made her fall madly, but alas, this story, the one I’m about to tell you, wasn’t that easy. The girl had to travel and wander through various cities, searching for answers, and the boy had to take long, midnight drives to the outskirts of town before they will find each other. And in many more days after that, somewhere in the nights that would consist of spontaneous midnight coffee runs, passenger seat concerts, and an endless exchange of stories and random photographs, they will fall in love.
Much later, neither won’t be able to tell you the exact moment it happened.
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