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Don’t kill your heart, Charlie.
It hurts, she pleads. It hurts, Nora, and you’re not here to take away the pain.
Charlie’s practical streak protests, but every other part of her leans into the brush of ghostly fingers across her cheek, the puff of sweet, hot breath in her ear, the touch that leaves her yearning and liquid.
The absolution in that last, loving whisper.
Maybe it’s time to let them.
- Part 2 of Light My Fire