Strange that a feeling so grey and drear could be woven from these threads.
An ache that echoes someone else's pain.
A knowledge that I couldn't make things better.
A lurch of recognition of all day saying the wrong words, the wrong way.
Bed on my own, early even after a night out.
Painkiller doses creeping into red.
Clouds and rain and darkness. October.
Keep me company?
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Anytime, sweetheart.
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