"Don't worry," I always had to say every time we ended one of our gut-wrenching arguments. "I'm the one you can blame if all this goes to shit." She poured me a drink and we got down to brass tacks. For some reason, whenever we had these "life" discussions, I always stared at her left tear that would eventually ease slowly down her cheek. What she probably never knew was that whatever semblance of a point she'd try to make always took a back seat to her pre-cry beauty. I knew she was serious now, though, since those water works never came.
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