The midnight hour was the worst.
It always had been
The curtains were not clutched in sweaty impatient hands
The windows never shut hastily anymore
The bed was perfect, not even a single crease.
And the room, it smelled of fresh flowers.
What a pity!
The passion in the room died with their love.
And in its place stood a room a house would be proud of.
But it wasn’t the home of love anymore.

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