The sorrow

The Sorrow

She stood huddled with arms wrapped around her body in a futile effort to keep the sharp winds from reaching through her jacket and down to her bones. Her spirit had been silent for several months. Coming here was the one thing she committed to do each week. Standing silent vigil for as long as her body could stand it was her ritual while in this place.

Icicles began forming on her face from the tears that had traced their way down her cheeks. She had waited so long to find the perfect partner, and now this was all that was left. No amount of comfort would be accepted in the empty space where a once joyful spirit had previously resided.

On schedule, as the distant sounds from the nearby town took up their predetermined rhythm, she began to move from foot to foot to get the circulation to return. It was time to go. She dragged the sleeve of her jacket across her face in an ineffective attempt to wipe away signs of the sorrow.

She gave one last barren look at the marker, a brief touch to the headstone, and a whispered good-bye ... until next week.





[pretty sure this ended up in the Noticing Newbies Newsletter, possibly August or September 2014, but I don't know which date.]