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“Maybe I’m your gris gris now,” I say, my voice cracked with tears and awe.
He doesn’t ask if I’m reminding him of his words to me from before or declaring it to him right now, but his reply is in perfect harmony with either, with both.
“You are,” he whispers into a kiss of mingled breaths and promises, his fingers, his future locked tightly with mine. “And I am.”