The following is a part of a ‘minuscule musings’ series. It’s more like a work in progress for a larger piece, a short story. I aim to add to it each week, and hopefully something fluid will come of it!
And not for me, she’ll ever feel.
And tainted of her blood, like a spell, I have forgotten love. I forbade myself her, from loving her. Forever as a spectre withing my mind. My love for her never returned. But never forgotten, the horror of her losing herself. Her happiness, herself, she was robbed of those things when she chose to live life in mourning.