i dare not think of her now. whether she's alive or if she met her end. to think she could have been one of bodies we scrambeled over, one of the scorched bodies screaming for help streching for my hand, it makes me ill.

i remember the first time we met, like a vision of purity she walked into my heart. i knew before speaking that she was the one. with eyes that hid the passion of sunsets and a soul more beautiful than paradise. i think i saw her burning.

i think i saw her burning! torn off at the waist, crawling through the ash, her clothes burnt away and her flesh ablaze. her face was a fleshwound, her jaw and skull shining through the red curtains of what remained like pearls among giblets. it was her eyes that i recognised. although in pain, strained like i'd never seen them before, they still had her spirit, they were still hers.

it was then that the blast threw us and i saw the manhole, i coudln't stop to think, i'd be dead, i abandoned her, i failed her, i'd killed her.


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