It was love bred from a winter’s innocence that sprawled into almost a dozen seasons. A ghost of demons past, and I have finally chanced an encounter with her. We have come full circle. She loves me, but she hates me for a history that I cannot dissociate from. I no longer cry, and she learns to forgive, for sometimes the apologies left unsaid are the ones we need to let go of most.

He is no more in my world of hurt. And the angels in the distance of the cold sunrise beckons me closer.

This too shall pass.

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