Loved To Death

I found her innocence stifling, her undiluted love too much to take. Wherever I was, she was there too. Whenever I sought the attentions of the bottle, she was there to prevent it, to coax the drink from my hand. She smiled when she did so. She always smiled. What I required, however, was a sneer or a slap. She just wouldn’t do.

I remember gazing down at her grief-stricken figure, a black veil across her face, a tissue in her hand. Her slender form looked like it might snap under the gale and the howling rain. A man in a dog-collar consoled her, though, in truth, he wasted his time and the other single mourner’s too; she was inconsolable. Standing over a large hole in the ground, she threw something I recognised as my favourite shot glass; it smashed to a tinkling tune. Only then did I realise I’d left her. Only then did I know I was dead.

27 thoughts on “Loved To Death

  1. Boy there’s a lot to process in this one. His alcoholism got the best of him and she didn’t have the hard heart he needed to make him quit. The other mourner wearing the dog-collar makes me wonder. A new beau waiting to slip himself in as her new man? Very rich in imagery this one.

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