Scaramouche

To be loved was to be seen, or at least that’s what you had always believed. Has he really seen who you are? Who you aspire to be?

Maybe he has.

Now, as Scaramouche aimed the cold, unfeeling barrel of the gun at your head, you pondered the nature of love and perception. Did he truly see you, in all your naked vulnerability and flawed humanity? Did he see the dreams you harbored, the shadows that haunted you, the quiet desperation that threaded through your every breath?

Perhaps he did.