"Did you love her?" I asked.
"Who"
"Johanna?"
"Yes. But I'm quite used to not getting the things that I want."
The conversation was suspended for a fraction. I knew that something was about to change, but I wasn't precisly ready for the reality of it.
"I could have loved a girl once..." He continued.
I laughed. Not cruelly, you must understand. It was intended in a sweet manner; an honest response to the honest simplicity of such a complicated statement. And then: "...but she died."
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