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We had been sitting idly in your room, you on the bed your back against the wall, me on the floor my legs curled up in Indian style.
I look at my hands and occasionally chance a glance back up at your face, your greasy black hair falling in scraggly locks into your eyes.
Between strands I can see the heavy black mascara and eyeliner running you were always partial to running in streams down your face.
I want to comfort you but my tongue is like lead in my mouth.
We were worlds apart you and I, you were so much older than I despite my birth a month before, me a small child in your shadow.
I was scared for you.
The shirt you still clutched in your hand said it all.
I wished I could comfort you.
I was but a lost sheep; you were a woman crying over a wolf.
Your sorrowful sobbing softened my heart.
I climb onto the bed, my hand shaking, and place it on your shoulder.
The smell of grey and sadness swirled around you like a sinister vapor.
Suddenly you reach out and snatch my hand hold it to your chest.
I needed to get away.
I left you there in your cloud of grey.