After
days of laughter and nights of passion, her sillage was all that was
left. Yet it was all consuming. Her perfume's ghost danced at the edges
of every breeze. Every crowd hid a murmur of her voice. He felt her
fingers interlace with his with every setting sun. And through his tears he could see her phantom, a spectre of all their happy memories.
Yet
despite the pain, it was her sillage that kept him going; living the
life she would have wanted for him. And in every laugh and every smile
til his dying day, he felt her presence.
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