Two years and four months.
Time had moved on but Fate seemed adamant to cling onto him.
It would have been easier to remember him, had she forgotten the intoxicating rush of his breath on her neck.
She had never loved the sound of her name more, than in that breathless gasp.
Taking a stroll in his deep molten eyes was like checking-into Hotel California.
A tattoo couldn't compete with the permanence of his boyish grin on her memory.
Flying carpets and talking puppies would seem believable after meeting him.
There’s that thing they say about the one that got away.
Now, she knew exactly why.
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