Untitled Tue, 06 Jan 1998, 00:00 EST
I cried that night. The whole, lonely night. The blood of departure flooding my dried, emptied heart with a water that brought nothing but retching pain. Death I could have handled; then at least the loss would have come through nature. Premature, perhaps, but an inevitable fate I was long ago doomed to accept. But this! This loss come about through the very hands of the one loved and lost: how could the hurt be more?
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