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Creative Writing A place for forum members to post their poetry, short stories and other creative writing.

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Old 04-19-14, 02:59 PM
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hurricane92 hurricane92 is offline
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Recovery

She tore into my stores, a vengeful woman smashing the idols which had stolen her love, whose evil magic and strange sickness had weakened the man she'd looked up to and needed and loved. Finally, she could tear it down, she could vent upon it. She had always said I could never stop for her, I had to stop for myself or I would never make it. And she was right. For years it had been her most forlorn hope that I would see the man she loved one day, and the fact that I kept drowning the faults I found with him in drugs and drinks meant that every day, bit by bit, her fears were coming true. The person she saw in me, who she would go to the ends of the universe for, who she had fallen in love with, did not exist, he was a mirage. Everyone thought they saw him at first, but as they got closer they found their praise misheapen. It was the slow death of her love she'd mourned. Everyday, a trait of him, the wonderful man, died. Her hope and her faith hollowed at every funeral she held for something she'd loved about me, for everything she was certain existed that proved to be a hoax. Now, against all hope, her mirage of a man was beginning to solidify. The person who had died piece by piece stood a chance of being reborn. If it could happen, it would be worth all the lies had cost us. In me that night she at last found permission to fight for her dreams alongside them, against what was now, finally at long last our common enemy.
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