It is a cruel trick that nature has played on the unhappily married. That a hand I should love could touch mine, and my blood run cold, and the metal tighten its grip around my finger. It is a symbol, it means forever, it reminds you of the bad ahead and the good behind. Hello, it squeezes me, remember me. I know you do. I am not going anywhere, and neither are you. I was never one for holding hands.
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