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El Libro De Los Espíritus

What lies beyond those enigmatic brown eyes? I looked into yours, awoken from a moment of reverie. Disarmed by your gaze, I let your fingers play with the rusty spine of my life as it drew your blood. You sucked the oozing dew of red, a taste of the living iron blended with the stain of the dead. Unmindful of the foreboding preface, you turned the pages of my past. Words scribbled in the curves of innocence. You read the story that I'd written, the story that had written me. Names and places flipped by in hues of grey, black and aquamarine blue. Page by page, you unraveled my mystery. Finger prints of dirt, oil and blood. Dog ears and missing pages. Fragmented sentences and misaligned lines. Text scattered with missing commas, abrupt periods and mistakes. Words etched into the fibers of yellowed pages that smelt of summer showers and pressed flowers. Ink that refuses to run in the corrosive tears. You reached the end and shied away from my shadow of despair. Walk away knowing how it ends. Knowing how I end. Knowing this is the end.

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