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And then there was the noise and the matte grey of the hull filling our vision, no space for skies, only the white dust remembered. In New York the flames had called us out of our rooms,
The year we married, a red hot summer lasted so long the garden burnt. We were betting who was hottest you or me; our wedding marquee was used as a sun shelter, tempers ran high that summer, then out of the blue,
Tangibly, the web of silence grew, where angry words flew some moments before, now settled in the creases of the curtains, anchored to the nooks and crannies of the walls, the piles of the Persian rug.
Do you not sense the autumn wind that falls across your grave in sighs, bereft of breath, to mourn a second time your death? Will winter's freeze break up my frozen heart to smithereens with its sharp biting chill?
She is touchy-feely like an oyster rubbing incessantly the grains of a corroding awareness from within but because of it she is breeding her own dependency he cannot quit.