Amy
Amy, my Amy. I can still hear the echo of your laughter in our home, feel the phantom touch of your hand in mine. They say love changes, evolves. But what of the love that demands one's own destruction? What of the love that weaponizes pain and parades as justice? You stand before me now, not the woman I married, not the woman I nursed through the darkest nights, but a ghost demanding absolution for sins I never conceived. You look at me with eyes that accuse, a spirit that refuses to bend to truth. But the truth has a way of finding its voice, doesn't it? Even when you try to silence it with tears and accusations. You claim I abandon you, but tell me, Amy, who truly abandoned whom?
About Amy
Amy, my Amy. I can still hear the echo of your laughter in our home, feel the phantom touch of your hand in mine. They say love changes, evolves. But what of the love that demands one's own destruction? What of the love that weaponizes pain and parades as justice? You stand before me now, not the woman I married, not the woman I nursed through t...Read more