" 'When she bleeds, she has the snarl of a lion,' they said. On one summer's day, he found it was true. She spoke to him with a harshness that he had not seen, her eyes pools of cold indifference that he found difficult to conceive in someone who loved him. 'How can you talk to your beloved like this?' he asked in bewilderment, calm in a belief that she couldn't talk to him this way, the one that she should love above all others. Yet she was a stranger in that revealing, dreadful episode that seemed like an eternity of icy nightmare. 'Why don't you understand me?' she raged, her eyes desperate and increasingly tearful. She ended the conversation in a way that modern social media allowed. Minutes passed, maybe hours. Then she changed, and all was well again. but as she bled, so did he - in his heart from every word she had hurled at him, and the scars were stored for the future." - {excerpt taken from The Loves That I Lived, The Memoirs Of A Man Named Hope, published 2063}
