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Old love

The clock spun hundreds of times in a minute. Her eyes dulled and his muscles diminished.  The auerole of umber curls that once halo-ed her full cheeks had turned to snow. His back bowed under the weight of  their world. Years of work tatooed their soft supple skin. Hands like canes perched on tired knees and eyes drifted open and close  as the days of death crawled on. No more sporadic bursts of energy to brighten days, just subtle movements slowed by the chains of a damned or lovely afterlife.


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