Exquisite It is what it is. Overcome with incredible sadness.
The road ahead would stretch as far as he wanted: company unavailable. Exits were his speciality: entrances happened infrequently: opportunity waited confidently for him to spoil it’s promise. Another drunken rage, a moment of unfaithfulness, a sense of himself tilting at order, in a marriage, in a job, at a life.
So here he was, another walk, another outburst, another day trying to explain what ‘living’ meant to himself, if no one else. That look she gave him was not unknown, but new from her. When they met, love spilled out of her with careless abandon. He was a wound from which emotion flowed, and she the bandage who brought comfort to his life. She was all he had and all he wanted, and on this crazy voyage he called existance, she had seemed like some unlikely angel, appearing from nowhere at a bookshop, commenting on the book he was browsing, saying, “He’s odd, the…
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