What Could Be

It was almost the vindication of the pain that I had felt. Less vindictive but transfered from the mind to the body. Psychosomatic. It had become apparent on my face. I felt the folds of my eyelids deepen. When I saw him, it were as if life - or rather the absence of it had left his eyes and I felt the same demise draw upon my eyes as well. Transference of decay. An excruciating hopelessness had dawned upon me. As if death could permeate through my reality.

She reminded her of the same precision of character as she had been before and joy. Joy was for an eternal glimpse - the nostalgic joy she had once felt before. Before defilement. Before impurity. Before the lost. And in that moment, that moment was sufficient to forget the pangs of current torment.

And she sobbed. Not as if the characters had done because of relief but because she was deeply affected by the death of a man with nothing but his repulsive self. How strong was his will to contain himself a beast to humanity and yet he declined morality - and for that she cried. She empathized his lost entity, his sanctity.