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“Write, woman. And, don’t get fluffy – keep it down to three syllable words.”  ~ **The Rack**

It’s been a month since I lost my beloved. An ugly four week splotch of grief, thrown against the canvas of my soul.

Fuck cancer. Fuck undetected cancer. Fuck undetected cancer so aggressive it steals life before it can be found out. Kiss my grieving ass heart.

Diphylleia GrayiFor ten years, for three thousand six hundred and fifty days (give or take a leap year or two), we were together.

Laughing together. God, shi had the best laugh, genuine and filled with all things jovial.

Learning together. My heart did a somersault when I learned she was attracted to femme lesbians. Hers did too when, despite my affinity for queered-up butch pronouns, shi learned that I was attracted to the woman she was and there was no need for stereotypical affectations.

Most of all, loving together. Always loving each other, when life was good and not so good. And, strange though it may be I still feel hir love.

I hope I always will.

 

 

 

 

 

 

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