The Hunted Hunter
I smiled, glancing down at Zoraida, who was getting bored picking at the embroidery on her dress.
“To borrow from Pablo Neruda. I love you without knowing how, when, or from where. I love you straightforwardly, without complexities or pride. Therefore, I love you because I know no other way. And I never want to find another.” I concluded, putting the black gold floral enraged band onto his finger.