Crack

When she left, I honestly don't know what hit me. All I knew was pain, this large gaping hole in my chest, as if a thin black mist of curse had coiled itself in place of where my heart should be; And now I am nothing. I'm lying here, face pressed into the white, cool pillow where she used to sleep. Orange blossom, pumpkin, mouthwatering and warm, her sweet scent is all she left for me. 

I'm not crying. I think I should be, but I can't. Lumps keep rising in my throat, but a tear never appears. I miss crying. When you cry you don't have to think.

She was beautiful. Her jaw was soft, like her lips, and kissing her was like breathing after so long under water. Her eyes were flecked with sapphire, and even some emerald, but they were like the sea after a storm, grey, but calm. Her hair was long, ash underneath, white-fire on top. Her hair was soft, too.

The End

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