It was about whether Leo could love something again—fully, dangerously, without guarantee—and call that love enough.
Leo cleared it by instinct, his rear tire kissing the lip, and for one perfect second he was airborne. No sound. No fog. Just the moon, full and yellow as a dead man's eye, and the wind whistling through the holes in his jersey. moto x halloween
Leo twisted the throttle. The track was wrong. It was about whether Leo could love something
"The story." Midnight. Widowmaker Peak.
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