The mystery of love is greater than the mystery of death. Oscar Wilde Adoration is not profound enough a word to express the depth of my love for her. From the moment she walked into my life and set my heart and soul on fire, not a day's gone by that she hasn't plagued my every thought. We were each other's completion. She was everything I wasn't--the sigh to my roar, the virtue to my sin, the cure to my wounds. We Were One. Until the unthinkable happened. That I've survived such a tragedy without having completely lost it, ...
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The mystery of love is greater than the mystery of death. Oscar Wilde Adoration is not profound enough a word to express the depth of my love for her. From the moment she walked into my life and set my heart and soul on fire, not a day's gone by that she hasn't plagued my every thought. We were each other's completion. She was everything I wasn't--the sigh to my roar, the virtue to my sin, the cure to my wounds. We Were One. Until the unthinkable happened. That I've survived such a tragedy without having completely lost it, is a mystery in itself. But as my mind starts to blur the lines between reality and my delusional heart, I begin to question everything, including my sanity. And then the real mystery begins . . .
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