Dancing With Orange Blossoms, Alternating POV
The last time he visited Barcelona, he was alone. I was dead. My death pierced his heart with a thousand arrows and left behind a void like that of hunger in an empty stomach. He returned to our beloved city knowing he would find pain but hoping the numbness would lift as he remembered me in the neighborhoods of my youth. Instead, he found the city, too, in mourning. The warm glow of Gaudi’s lanterns had turned garish, the music on the Plaça Reial harsh. The city we both loved abandoned him as it reclaimed the memories of its daughter and taunted him with them like the ghostly imaginings of a hopeful heart. The city that belonged to everyone now belonged to everyone but Samuel.
The part of Spain I lived in, Andalucía, had become Susanna’s home after she left Barcelona for warmer weather. I lived in her world as…
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