Her heart broke to watch him. Everyday he came carrying roses. Everyday they were a different colour. She wondered if they represented something - an emotion of some sort. She didn’t know. He’d always sit on the ground at the foot of the grave for at least an hour, clasping his knees, sobbing.
He’d often speak between those sobs, crying out his pain, as though talking to her and she’d listen, dismayed by the guilt that wracked his soul. He was innocent; the car accident had been just that: an accident; his heart was pure. She’d always known that, even when she was alive and able to touch and hold him, able to return the adoring love.
But now all she could do was sit here and watch, the only comfort the wings on her back, reassuring her that she’d never leave him and always be here to protect him.
Post a Comment