I knew a woman once, who was so beautiful she was incomparable. She was unique -- a flower unto her own reflection. A smiling and giving woman who would not allow her eyes to look away, who would not allow her voice to gain an edge of anger, who would not persist in being anti ---- anything!
I knew this woman very, very well. So well that in my dream I married her. And lived a life of seeming happiness -- amidst the roses, and the rain; the sun, and the pain. I married her --- and then she was called away. She grew too hurt to continue; and then she even died, in my dream.
And I was at fault. Some way -- I was at fault. She died; and I was at fault. Or so the dream goes.
There are women now just as beautiful as she was then -- but I am no longer able to dream. I died during that last dream you see.
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