I always thought of her as a sister to me, so it came as dizzying but pleasant surprise when I realised that I had--- quite accidentally--- fallen in love with her. But now, about three years later, it just hurts. It hurts, and there's nothing I can do about it.
Gatsby threw parties for the same reason I write stories-- I write them just for her.
She reads them, I think. But I don't know if she ever realises that they are all about her.
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