They met in the most ruthless place. Both used to wait in the lobby expecting a miracle while their respective partners were battling in the ICU. He lost her. She lost him. They were strangers facing the same brutality of destiny, grieving the same pain. They both became each other's silent support system as if drawing strength from each other to swallow the same wound. Theirs was not a love story based on flowers, gifts, letters and butterflies. Theirs was a story where there was a comfort level. The comfort of crying alone, of saying that yes I miss my deceased partner that I am still in love with him. Their story wasn't perfect. They both were damaged. But the beauty of their relationship lies in the fact that they both accepted each other as they were... Fragile, wounded. Love is overrated. The foundation of a relationship is respect and understanding. Without them it's a ship without a mast...
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