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Farewell Cecilia
If it were not
for the curse of breath, I do not think we'd have broken the kiss. Even as we
each gathered the fragrant garden air in our lungs, our lips continued to
fleetingly touch.
It was she that
took the first step back, putting an unending space between us. I marveled at
how lovely she looked, even in her sadness, her face and flowing black hair
framed by the frosted lace of her dress.
I raised my
hand slowly to brush back an errant lock of hair from her face. Her hand grasped
mine as it lingered. She squeezed it firmly but fleetingly. She kissed my palm
before letting my hand fall useless and loved to my side.
With no words
left to be spoken, she turned and walked away. Within moments she was around the
corner of the house and in the arms of the one who would be her husband by dusk.
I turned as
well, walking into her parent’s formal garden, hoping to become lost in the
beauty of the flowering plants and amongst the memories of my sweet Cecilia.
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