How could he let Shanti go, when every fibre in his being yearned for her? She wasn’t dead – how could he bury her, how could he mourn her in his mind? Perhaps he could put her in a box and shut the lid tight. Then, for no reason, the street light went out. He sat in the dark not wanting to be alone. Rain pelted down. Perhaps the greatest torture is the cruel side of love, he thought.
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