The black clothes and black moods blended together.

The rain and tears became one.

And it was all because of you, though it wasn’t your fault.

It was anything but your fault.

It was the fault of the undeniable doom that comes to all sooner or later.

The end of everything.

I sat down in the dreary weather, on a chair beside our grandmother.

She was crying like I’ve never seen her cry before.

I patted her arm in awkward comfort and she croaked out, “I lost two granddaughters that day.”

I was so confused, as you were the only one who met your doom, but then she elaborated.

“You lost your twin. Your other half. You will never be the same. Your sister took you to the grave with her.”

God, I wish grandma was wrong.

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