Dead fields under a November sky, scattered rose petals brown and turning up at the edges, empty pools scummed with algae, rot, decomposition, dust.
The road to hell is paved with adverbs.
A broken spoon may be a fork in disguise.
It's strange how pain marks our faces, and makes us look like family.
And in real life endings aren't always neat, whether they're happy endings, or whether they're sad endings.
The woman had looked into the abyss and then walked out across it.