A little boy sat near the window; watching the night. -He wasn't afraid though; he didn't fear the dark, the dark was a time for stories by candlelight and sharing secrets. The dark wasn't bad, maybe misunderstood, but not bad. So he sat there, under a ceiling of stars and infinite darkness, he sat, tracing shapes on the fogged glass. -But he wasn't alone. Somewhere out there, past the border of the thick trees, was a girl walking among her family's ruins on a twisted path. Broken door frames and cracked windows, she didn't fear the night. Darkness was a time for dreams and stargazing. The dark wasn't bad, maybe misunderstood, but not bad. So she walked on, in the air of a cool breeze, in the song of crickets. She walked. Feet barefoot on the dewy grass. And though they were both children of the night, neither of them would ever meet. Fate would make them strangers. Just another face in the overcrowded street. Perhaps Fate had his reason for this. Perhaps not. All I know is that the boy lives in the future and the girl in the past.
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