Our history is you being a pest. A roach who won't die, the sort that flies and gets everywhere.

[ It's honestly not much different from now, if she thinks about it, finishing up the last of the wishes and laying them out in a neat row so the ink can dry without smearing. ]

You really don't know what it's like, do you? "It feels like dying," but at the same time, you never feel as alive as in the moment that you're dying. That's what love feels like.