They were all dead. Love kills. Did I love her? Was there a choice? The past is a gaping hole. You try to run from it, but the more you run, the deeper, more terrible it grows behind you, it's edges yawning at your heels. Your only chance is to turn around and face it. You'll see the choices you didn't know you'd made, like staying at work late to chat with a friend, instead of hurrying home to your family.I am afriad. But I start again from the beginning, trace my own
steps