She once had a life. She felt the glow. A beacon of hope it was. As the horizon appeared, blue became grey, yellow was not to be. Black became imminent. The beginning was fairytale. The middle was rockyroad. The end, a slow painful death of Cinderella. I read and wept.
As she read and re read, she felt sad and bitter. Mostly for the poignancy of everything
She has always been grateful and thankful. Never complaining. Always giving. As the chapter of life ends and book seemingly closes, I want a fairytale.
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