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22 October 1998, Thursday

The sky whispers as I stare sadly into its cool, blue void.

I need to leave, but my feelings tell me to stay, as we recall memories of elaborate
symphonies and enormous, sweet chocolates. Of delicate pink petals in
smoothed out hair.

These could never have pleased her, and yet they seem mysteriously like her.

As my thoughts thin, and I come back to my senses, I realize again what I must be

I look to the heavens and say goodbye to her one last time.

Then I turn, and leave.