As the moisture flowed into droplets in the glass and her own eyes were dry she knew that she had loved him.
She had loved him for the salt and the sand on his body, for the smoothness of his skin, for his strength, but she had also loved him for himself, fallible and guilty and it was this self which was now lost.
It was an ache at the back of her throat, a dry ache, needing moisture but remaining dry.
She had loved him for the salt and the sand on his body, for the smoothness of his skin, for his strength, but she had also loved him for himself, fallible and guilty and it was this self which was now lost.
It was an ache at the back of her throat, a dry ache, needing moisture but remaining dry.
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