She called him for the umpteenth time. His voicemail answered every call. With a face drenched in tears, she quietly stared at her cell-phone hoping that at any second it would ring. Still, he hadn't called. Now she sits in the dark. Lays upon her bed. Her back against the wall, she softly sobs. She remembers their last conversation. He yelled at her and spit words of pure hatred and disgust. Still she loved him on, and asked for his eternal love. He hung up on her; how could I love a whore was his last words. Now she gently lays down on the bed, and cries a many more tears. Still she loves him on.
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