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In my living room is a ghost door, closed, without a door handle. On the other side of the door is a wall. So you could never pass that door again.
I feel almost ghost-like, living in a dream. I don't woke up from this dream yet, although I'm living here now without him. He has gone. Forever.
At dawn, when I'll wake up, I'll know that this is true. And I'll never pass that door again.
Tags: love that killing field, me
