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It is the first of many, of thousands, of millions maybe. The first one to fall from my eyes; the first watering of sorrow, of missing you, of never seeing you again, of wondering where you are and what you are doing and why these things always are decided by one person, the one who wants to leave, the one who wants out. It’s the first one. The flood begins.
By nyla on 01.25.2016
a division of Identity Crisis, Inc.