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The Weight of Memories

The worn leather of her favorite armchair cradled her weary form. Each creak of the old house echoed her loneliness, a constant reminder of the empty spaces left behind. A single tear traced a path down her wrinkled cheek, blurring the faded photograph in her trembling hands. The laughter captured in the image seemed to mock her present sorrow, a bittersweet ache that lingered in the quiet corners of her heart.
Rambler · 61-69, M
You have captured a moment quite beautifully
DonaldTrumpet · 70-79, M
U NeeDz moREz attentiOnz HuNz?

 
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