Casablanca

In the long life that followed, I dreamed countless times of an almost eerie scene: a crimson rose stubbornly blooming into a pure white lily. In the clash of colors, I saw sacrifice or redemption, compassion or love.

I once knew a man with a beauty mark beneath the corner of his eye, who was always smiling with wicked, effortless confidence. I never did understand his love story.

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