Remember when you left Gotham? Before all this, before Batman? You were gone seven years. Seven years I waited, hoping that you wouldnt come back. Every year, I took a holiday. I went to Florence, theres this cafe, on the banks of the Arno. Every fine evening, Id sit there and order a Fernet Branca. I had this fantasy, that I would look across the tables and Id see you there, with a wife and maybe a couple of kids. You wouldnt say anything to me, nor me to you. But wed both know that youd made it, that you were happy. I never wanted you to come back to Gotham. I always knew there was nothing here for you, except pain and tragedy. And I wanted something more for you than that. I still do.
Posted on: Sat, 15 Mar 2014 06:41:39 +0000
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