C. D. Wofford, writer, friend, and love is gone

C. D. Wofford

We’d been dating a while and he didn’t want his polaroid taken. When I was going on vacation, he pulled me into the bathroom and made me take this polaroid.

Clay died. We dated when we were younger. We loved each other so very much. You never love someone like you did when you were 22. I hadn’t spoken to him since last year but I thought of him every day. The last time we spoke he wasn’t himself. And I sunk into a deep depression. I couldn’t face the reality.

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