dance with me, mr dewitt? one last time? my
hands shake even without a gun, without a pair of
scissors, blood running between my fingers. no,
forget about it all. just take my hand. we'll go
back to where it all started, off into before, and
you'll teach me how to be brave and i'll teach you
how to forget. we'll pretend it's all we've ever
known and we'll finally know what it feels like to
be safe, in a city that blooms with possibility, in
paris. we'll wake up and gasp for breath like we
mean it, and smile without downcast eyes. there
will be no debts, no penance. it'll be like this.
promise me, somewhere, it'll be like this, even if
you can't keep it. even if our hands both shake
remembering all that we've done. please, booker,
you there? i miss you. booker, i miss you.