He was walking down the street.
Preoccupied with the day he had just lived,
His stream of thoughts was punctuated by numerous questions.
One could read on his face the scars,
Red seals patching up his trampled heart.
Every morning for six years – that passed in the blink of an eye
He had opened his eyes to lay them on the face he so cherished.
He loved to let his fingers slide on her soft skin, appeased
By a night. Regenerated, he could lie there, watching her for hours.
Her long mane of fire was extinguished by the obscurity
That reigned over the dark realm of the room.
Shutters shut, slammed on hopes weaved over
A lifetime and strengthened by six years shared.
He was not even wondering what he would do the next day
Or in a month. He was wondering how he would manage
To share his space with each moment lived together, and captured
By the pieces of furniture, and the familiars that held her remembrance
– Ghosts of their lives intertwined.
He walked over the threshold of their apartment,
He let a sigh of surprise slip away from him.
This start of despair echoed
In the void over dustless forms,
Resonating from the absence of their tenants, evaporated.
I wrote this poetic short story as part of Mug’s Tale’s 22nd Weekly Writing Workshop, exploring the theme “Expectations”. It came to me in French, but I translated it into English for your benefit :). I hope you enjoy the read.
Have a wonderful weekend, and happy writing,
The featured photograph was captured on my iPhone 5C, on the 22nd of February 2016, in Toulouse, France, using HDR settings.