Friday, June 11, 2010

Timothée

I think I hugged him or something before I left. I probably walked away slowly, forcefully. He stood in the doorway and watched me go. As I pressed on the handle that opened into the stairwell, he called out to me one last time and I looked back with hopeful despair.

"T’es belle, Emilie. T’es comme une pieuvre; tu attrapes tout le monde avec tes tentacules."

I smiled weakly and forced my limbs to carry me on once more.

And that was the last time I ever saw him.


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