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Theirs is a story of three cities.
Tomas remembers the Paris of winter. He remembers the Seine under Pont d'Iéna, the tower and its tourists ahead of them. The cold sewage smell on the wind, the wind catching in their coats. He remembers Fabien's scarf was double-knotted and dove grey and that Fabien hardly blinked against the white sky that day. The city colored itself to suit him.
Why the river?
He remembers making a scene. He remembers making a scene because Fabien wouldn't even look at him.
"Don't tell me what I want, Fabien!"
Fabien had lowered his head, inclined his face toward Tomas, breathing quietly. Fabien had always moved like an oil painting, slow, sweeping grace. His eyes were on the street behind them, eyelashes low, thick and smudged lines of soot.
"You are too intelligent," he said simply.
"And what about passion! This is my religion! My life!"
"I do not understand your créole, Tomas"
"My cré! Because you refuse to listen!"
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Lilyas has dedicated herself to making our community a brighter place with her vibrant artwork and infectious enthusiasm for interacting with others in our community. It has certainly paid off, as many deviants flock to her page on a daily basis to let her know how much of an inspiration she is. We absolutely agree, and couldn't let all that hard work go without recognition, so it's with great pride that we bestow the Deviousness Award for March 2014, to ... Read More