Status Updates From Our Infinite Fates

Mira, lo de ver 137 vidas distintas se está haciendo un pelín pesado ya

‘I don’t feel like any of them,’ I said slowly. ‘I don’t feel, in my heart, that I’m a boy. But neither do I feel like I am inherently a girl. My soul isn’t rooted to any of them. I’m just me. No particular body feels more “right” than the other, nor more wrong. They’re just vessels. And with you … it doesn’t matter to me how you look, what form you take.’ I tapped the top of his cane. ‘You’re just you.’

Memories came to me as visceral images: a head on my shoulder as we lay beneath a goat-hide tent in the desert; two ravenous bodies pressed together in a steaming hammam; my jaw cupped in rough hands as I wept beside a pod of dancing whales. Battlefields and asylums, olive groves and caravels, the whole world a backdrop for our doomed love, for our infinite fates.

I should have hated him. I should have hated the person in front of me. I should have wanted to cross the room and punch him in the face.
But I didn’t. I ached for him. I ached to go to him, to feel his heart beat against mine, to press my face into his neck and just sob and sob and sob.


Very curious about why he "has" to kill her as he said