The dew had settled just outside the front door glistening in the last few rays of moonlight as the sun crested the horizon, blood was the color of the clouds the same unwashed crimson that ran across the floor before him. It was a body, a body of a man I loved a body emptied of life a life wasted a life emptied of meaning. Before on the wood floors, a knife lay next to him the love of my life lay dead, his wrists slashed his body dead on the floor. Was I so blind to have missed the signs of his depression had I not seen his cries for help?
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