She had a particular type of beauty. The one you would stare for hours; never quite knowing what caught your eyes in the first place. Nonetheless what stroke him first was her ability to provoke him. It seemed, sometimes, she had in her possession a blueprint of his soul. An access to a special place that no one had ever had. Deep down he had alway known that those wandering eyes would be the end of him.
As a goddess Fortuna's joke they were never at the same page in the book of life. In the begining he spent his time in the pages of now and she thrived in the lines yet to be written. When finally he ran to join her she got back to the first chapters and held on to a past, which could only had been great through the dirty glass of memory.
All that he could offer was dreams that were thick and solid as a summer breeze after a storm. Who would believe a thive caught so many times? And in desire his heart burned and longed for a future that hanged for a thread. (to be continued...)
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