Five years.
Strands of sand-colored hair, grey irises, pale skin, flushed cheeks, doll face. It's all real. She's just too real. I don't want to blink nor breathe, afraid that in a beat she might disappear with the wind.
Five years.
I was filled with apathy and alcohol. Then all of a sudden, I am sober.
Five years.
After 1825 days of trying to forget, being lost, chasing rationality, I have found Aevy.
