He knew he should turn around, move on, never look back. It was dangerous, a slope he wouldn’t be able to stop sliding down, once in motion.
But there she was again, just as she had been the day before: feet planted firmly in the wet, slushy soil, her body shaking, her heart crumbling with the rest of her body, freezing in the bareness of her trampled love. In the sun, she would evaporate, and he would think nothing of her save a wispy sentiment. But standing there, in the halo of the moon, warm red hair, tears of pearl, snow like powdered sugar on her lips, his mind went barren, save for one monolithic thought: she looks so beautiful.
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