It’s this darn unreasonable obsession with seeing things from another’s perspective.

‘It’s not as if I can’t sleep.’ She said. ‘I’m just afraid that if I close my eyes I’ll never wake up.'


I looked at her, playing with the fraying holes in the tablecloth. She looked tired, and sort of stretched. Like life had been too wide and too deep for her.

She continued without looking up. She never looked up. 'And you know that feeling that you get. The one, usually late at night, which whispers, ‘You’re meant for something bigger than this. Something greater than this.’ But by the morning, you’ve forgotten. Well, I don't. I never forget. And it kills me, knowing it all the time. Knowing that I'm better than this. That even though right now, no one should love me, not after what I've done to you, to everyone. I don't deserve love. But knowing that I could be better, should be better and I can't seem to change, no matter what I try... That kills me.'

'You know I'll love you regardless.' I said, gazing at the bottom of my glass.


'But that's the thing! I don't deserve love. Especially not your love! You shouldn't love me. I'm tainted, contaminated. I'm not someone you should love. So don't. Stop letting yourself feel that way about me. You don't deserve it. I don't deserve you. Just... stop', she finished wearily.


Her shoulders had hunched, and her eyelashes were wet, but she was determined not to look at me. I leant forward to whisper to her, ‘There are things one must love without permission from the brain, simply the heart acting in accordance with its predestined purpose. Things that are as natural as breathing, yet so apart from this earthly situation that one may never know or realise their origins. You see, Eugenia, contrary to what others may say on the matter, it is only those who have known such a love as this that really have the authority to speak.’


‘And what allows you to be so opinionated?’ She asked, raising her heavily lidded eyes to mine, showing me for the first time a sort of transparent vulnerability.


‘You.’ I replied. ‘You, and only you. I love you as certain dark things are made to be loved, without thought or reason, origin or support. It just is, as was from the moment I met you, it existed. Like such a love, it has existed long before ourselves.


She met my glance and smiled dully. The war wasn't over yet.