“You're mine,” she whispered. “Mine, as I'm yours. And if we die, we die. All men must die, Jon Snow. But first we'll live.”
Jin ha Khalaan, shekh ma shieraki anni.
I miss the desert I miss 29 palms California I miss airports I miss dust and cigarette smoke I miss your calloused hands...
No place I’d rather be.
I want to be here, now.