I loved you.
I loved you — your velvety cheeks, your messy hair, and your voice — arrogant, tragic, joyful, theatrical.
And the stars lost in your long black lashes, your gaze, and your mind. I truly loved you, and I loved everything about you.
For you, I made concessions, took risky and even reckless steps that would have caused contempt, horror, and disgust in the kind of Emira I was before I met you.
I understood that you didn’t love me and probably never would; sometimes I felt that you wouldn’t love anyone in your life, and I wished that wasn’t true — that it was just my mistaken judgment. You destroyed the people who loved you, but my love was a creating force. I stood by you, and I was the strength that saved.
And I understood that I loved you so much that I couldn’t lose myself, couldn’t be completely with you or fully rediscover myself, because somehow I had blocked your love — the love I never really deserved anyway — because you shoved a gag into my mouth, shoved it in so I couldn’t express my needs.
Perhaps your presence in my life was nothing more than divine punishment for refusing so-called good guys — even though I couldn’t say I had caused them the kind of pain you caused me.
— The princess and the clown
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