impatienceMature

Impatience corroded the inner lining of her heart; it weakened her pulse fractionally with every passing day.  Her breaths grew more shallow.  His absence was an aching black hole centered in her chest - a ceaseless maelstrom of violent agony and wretched sadness.  She had never missed someone in such a consuming way; she'd never thought it possible to continue living with a piece of herself suddenly vanished - but still, she woke every day and was faced with the draining task of rising from the bed.

And every day she told herself, "It's just a series of hours," but it never helped.

The End

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