Oriana’s last breath didn’t rattle, it rasped. I had expected it to ease out in an elongated sigh, but it fought against suppression like a child’s unrestrained fury. She is the last thing I see before I click off the light and the first I imagine before I banish the night.
Oriana was my sun for more than half my life. I orbited her in an ellipse of attraction, never too far away, nor too close; constant proximity would have destroyed us both. When she drew me in, I beamed; warmed in her light and love. Now she’s dead, burnt from the inside out, a black hole draws me closer.
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