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“Sumimasen,” she says. “I'm sorry.”

 

Cold, harsh tears trickle out of the corners of her eyes, roll down her face. Her eyes are a deep blue, black circles ring the edges of those deep pools. Her lips are a deep pink, natural. She needn't wear any make up on those lips. They are deep and full without any artificial aids. Her skin is pale as the moon, luminous. Her hair; black, luscious, sensual waves that tumble around her shoulders. I reach out to her, touch her face. Her skin is soft and smooth. I gently reach out, and wipe away those tears. She cuddles closer to me, and I wrap my arms around her slender shoulders. The floodgates open and she sobs into my chest. I have never felt so protective. I don't want anything else to hurt her.

 

“Sumimasen, sumimasen, sumimasen” she repeats through her tears.

 

There is nothing. Nothing to say, or even to see in the darkness. Gentle moonlight peeps in through the window, through the open curtains. I stroke her hair. I can't find the words. It is not her fault, but she insists her apology. I don't know how to make her feel better. I want to tell her, tell her that it is not her fault, that it's his. But I can't. I know I can't. I tried it once before. She won't accept the facts of it. Of the fault, the blame being his. Her tears, her pain rips through me  like a knife. Her sobs that rack her body, that make her body shake with the trauma.

 

Eventually though, like always, she drifts slowly into an angelic slumber. I watch her sleep with all the loving tenderness that I feel for her, and my heart might burst with joy, to know that she is finally mine.

 


 

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