My husband (3)

My husband (3)

by wholesale replica handbags | post a comment

Every 23 minutes, who dies?
A brother who will not be there to hold his new born niece a friend whose encouragement is gone forever, wholesale replica designer handbags. A bride to be who will never say her vows. An aunt whose family will fragment and fall apart.
Every 23 minutes, who dies?
A child who will never fulfill his early promise. An uncle who leaves his children without guidance and support. A grandmother whose husband must now grow old lone. A lover who never had a chance to say how much he cared. Lover who never had a chance to say how much he cared.
Every 23 minutes.
A void opens.
Someone looks across the table at a vacant chair; climbs into an empty bed, feels the pain of no voice. No touch, wholesale designer handbags, no love. Where there was once intimacy and contact, now there is only absence and despair.
Every 23 breaks.
Someone’s pain shatters the confines of her body, leaking out in tears, exploding in cries, defying all efforts to soothe the despair. Sleep offers no escape from the nightmare of awakening. And morning brings only the irreversibility of loss.
Every 23 minutes.
A dream ends.
Someone’s future blurs and goes blank as anticipation fades into nothingness. The phone will not ring. The car will not pull up to the house, wholesale coach handbags. The weight of tomorrow becomes unbearable in a world in which all promises have been broken by force.
Every 23 minutes.
Somebody wants to run. Somebody wants to hide.
Somebody is left with hate. Somebody wants to die.
And we permit his go to on.
Every 23 minutes.

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