Whispering voices circle
him like a crown of daises in her hair, lusts and sins begun in ancient times, forgone but not forgotten with the years apart and the promises of silence, vows almost overshadowed when the voices grow shrill in unexpected moments. So simple the yielding would be, how complex the inescapable aftermath reflected in the darkness of starless mid-nights far from common places. Wait while the call ebbs like any other urge to suicide.
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Powerful writing. Super!
As always, thank you!