My Love in Dust

by Tamara Anna Pawlak
Photo by Johannes Plenio/Unsplash

My Love in Dust

I took one step closer—reached my hand toward her—her eyes lifted. Her etched cheeks wet with freshly spoken tears. I stood frozen—my love was not dancing, but writhing in pain! I had not stumbled upon a celebration of life, but a procession of death... 

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