This is the third instalment (after Holes and Betrayed) of Jack's point of view on Irina. I don't know why but when ever I write Jack he ends up being an incurable romantic once you get past the poker mask. So here we are again, enjoy:
Again
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An other hole.
An other burial.
An other place.
An other name.
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But the same person:
Her, my wife, my love.
I hate her.
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The same people:
Me
And my crying, unbelieving daughter.
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The same pain:
How could she?
One again, once too many.
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But this time other reasons,
Other lives.
We've all grown up,
All grown old.
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She's all grown up;
We've grown old.
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Treason still stings,
Secrets still burn,
And I still hope.