Post by frodissa on Jul 24, 2014 6:35:09 GMT -5
As with the sneakily-increasing weight of the pages that come before the final chapter of a book, her past was heavy in her left hand.
Finally, she let it go.
The last few pages lingered, turning richly, slowly; drenched in sunlight and joy.
She savored them, as she was known to do. As she had with a book, or two. Or several hundred, as the story went.
Lord, have mercy.
And the chair she sat in the night before she died still sits by the firepit in the backyard.
It is slightly askew and a bit distanced from the others.
I can't bring myself to move it.
Not just yet.
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