A few nights ago, I was left at the imaginary altar. My bedroom, the church filled with all of our imaginary family and friends joined together as imaginary guests. My imaginary groom long gone, bags packed as you ran out the door with only the excuse of 'this just isn't working out anymore,' to tide me over. My not-so-imaginary tears did nothing to make you stay. All that you left behind was me standing alone to explain to everyone just why you weren't going to make it to the imaginary wedding.
There is blood all over my exquisitely painted walls. And on the imported carpet from China. And soaked into the thousand thread-count sheets. This is going to take absolutely forever to clean up. I was never informed that death was so messy and if I had known I would have put down some plastic over the furniture or something. Now I have to pay someone to get all the stains out. Such a hassle. I was just playing a bit of a game with my husband, you see. It seems that we got a bit too rough and he has hurt himself. Such a clumsy man I am married to. He has managed to make a mess of everything in the room, and now it's going to take me even longer to clean up before dinner can get made. We always play little games like this with each other though. The last time we played tag, he accidentally pushed me too hard and I hit my head on the kitchen table. I ended up with 4 stitches, but I know it was just a mistake. Another time while we were playing hide and seek at the mall, he acciden...
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