Something Old

There comes a time when all loves die, when only the hollow withered husk remains. When all is for not and reason is lost to tide of despair that washes in. The good forgotten and the ill is all that remains to guide you on your path . When that occurs all you can do is cry for the world you lost and steel yourself for the world that will be created by the flames of the dying feelings you felt. Brace your self for the long winter to come as the heart repairs and you move on.

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