I was sitting on a park bench--you beside me, my hand on a cane. You were young my dear, younger than you are now, but your eyes carried the same sparkling soft hurt that they bare today. You loved me, and I you, but seeing that picture reminded me that you would be a young widow and I would selfishly abandon you like all the rest had done--albeit I abandoned you at deaths hands, and had not the choice to stay.
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