frequencyMature

It happened all the time.  She turned and the sunlight moved with her, shifting and slicing until it captured every narrow perfection of her face.  I'd grown used to it, in a way; I knew exactly when to remind my lungs to breathe in again, when to twist my lips into a dismissive smile, when to turn my eyes away without drawing any suspicion.  It didn't matter - the image of her had been burned into my eyes like a brand, every blink and I saw her again.  The ghostly outline of her features haunted my every sight, as if I'd been staring too long at the sun.

In a way, I had been.

The End

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