In the monochrome of daily life, some people bring bursts of color and turn the occasional night into some kind of magic.

The day dawns, the magic fades away and there’s nothing but shades of grey and the same old cycle I’m yet to break. But at least I have the memories.

There’s color and magic in music, in new friends and old ones, in having tea at a pub while singing along to a Queen tribute show.

And in this boy, who, as all other boys I cared about, doesn’t really love me, but shares his magic with me nonetheless:



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