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?
