A short story, about love and saying sorry. |
A low rumble of thunder could be heard off in the distance and once in a while a sharp streak of lightning would light up the small room. Its lone inhabitant lay still in the bed, watching through the open window. The woman held the soft sheet close to her warm body, afraid to let down her shield. She listened as the wind picked up and the trees began to sway. At first the rain came light and soft, then hard and loud, the large droplets pelting the roof. She laid still, her large eyes watching, waiting. A crack of thunder followed quickly by a flash of lightning. She lifted herself from the large bed and stepped onto the cold hardwood floor. She walked over to the door, stepping out onto the porch. The smell of spring in the air filled her senses. How could she go to bed angry? Why was saying sorry, so difficult? Standing in the doorway she watched him sit there, unaware of her. A stupid fight could not change how much she loved him. A flash of lightning lit her form up. He took a deep breath and looked at her. His eyes spoke for him, shame could be seen. She walked over and sat on the swing, moving closer to him. She rested her head on his shoulder. She knew he was waiting for her to join him. He kissed her forehead and put the blanket around her shoulders. He could smell the soap on her bare skin and the soft smell of lilacs in her raven hair. He stroked her arm hoping she was not cold. Then came another clap of thunder and a streak of lightning. |