wilting house whenever it has been emptied. The gray walls I can only compare to the face of the repulsive woman I foolishly decided to marry so many years ago. Her droning voice echoes throughout these molding walls and the creeping draft that persistently brushes against me reminds me of the chill I receive when I sense her presence.
Evie, though, takes all of that pain away. When she’s here, instead of smelling these molding, caving walls, I take in the magnetic aroma of her hair: a light, lavender…
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