This Is Not Magic. This Is The

I Wished For Her,” He Says.

But Dreams Have Ways Of Turning Into Nightmares.

It's Too Late. It Was Too Late By The Time I Arrived In London To Turn Your Notebook Into A Dove; There Were Too Many People Already Involved. Anything Either Of Us Does Has An Effect On Everyone Here, On Every Patron Who Walks Through Those Gates. Hundreds If Not Thousands Of People. All Flies In A Spiderweb That Was Spun When I Was Six Years Old And Now I Can Barely Move For Fear Of Losing Someone Else.

Life Takes Us To Unexpected Places Sometimes. The Future Is Never Set In Stone, Remember That.

Trapped In Silence, Marco Traces Apologies And Adorations Across Celia's Body With His Tongue. Mutely Expressing All The Things He Cannot Speak Aloud. He Finds Other Ways To Tell Her, His Fingers Leaving Faint Trails Of Ink In Their Wake. He Savors Every Sound He Elicits From Her. The Entire Room Trembles As They Come Together. And Though There Are A Great Many Fragile Objects Contained Within It, Nothing Breaks.