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December 16, 2012

Her cry was more like a long, never-it-could-end wail. It could have shook mountains. It could have, perhaps, moved a few hearts. She waited for him to come, all the while a little of her heart disintegrating with each ticking second. She waited and she wailed. Sadly, the clock kept ticking and she kept breathing. The wail silent as snow. The breathing regular as the precision of night and day. She strangled him to death in her heart. She died with him that day.

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