No, wanna go home—”Here was pink hair: “C’mon, love. You know. The museum. C’mon, the Kollwitz prints, they’re right over here. You love K...llwitz. Your Master’s thesis, right? Kollwitz.”Black hair: “Cammie’s head hurts.”Pink hair: “Baby, your name is Carmella.”Black hair: “Cammie. It’s name is Cammie.”Pink hair: “Love. Come on. Over here. It’s right over here.”Pink hair was fighting. She was fighting for her love. Her love, black hair, was dying right before her eyes.Black hair, she said.. And I can feel the inevitable, can feel the tide that is gathering. The way my body is beginning to helplessly tense beneath yours like the durable and taught string of a bow. You're akin to a beautiful instrument that I've discovered the most beautiful and complex chords to. The song we compose together is nothing short of a storm. I am in the eye of the storm now. With anyone else in the world, this would be something to fear, to seek shelter from. But I am your shelter and you always will be. More

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