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Eva

She had some sort of wicked mystery to her; the kind that suffocates a man with temptation and desire. One that I wanted no part of, and yet here I stand ranting about her effects on my character, as if a mouse allured by the music of a pied piper. Fitting that the aforementioned woman here is from Vienna, where music plays a vital role in its culture. Where symphonies and orchestras, balls and whatnot, intertwine to form a cavalcade of passion, decadence, and other posh leanings. Suffice to say I am intrigued by the prospect of a short visit in her motherland, if also only to see Sabrina in all her glory. It had been such a long time since we last shared the same air and space, and eager to create new crooked smiles and tragic mishaps.

However, this woman in question is not Sabrina. She is of a different flavour and context; she is fire when Sabrina is ice; she is work when Sabrina is play; she is ambition when Sabrina is happiness. One whose future denotes a compound of worthwhile misery and blissful lay. But what is life but making misery a worthwhile endeavour? This woman escapes me, haunting my thoughts of her leaving, turning me anxious at a loss of another potential flame. Sometimes we just give in to regrets and live on with our lives knowing with certainty that we would have been someone else had we allowed our desires to decide our lives for us.

If only I can learn the tricks of fire and wash myself with it.

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