A Short Story or My Love Becomes A Shroud

He’s thinner than she remembers. His shirt hanging awkwardly on his shoulders, his gait sluggish. Pants barely held on by the leather belt.

He’s walking slowly across the lawn, arms deep in pockets.

She wants him to look up, to see her standing there waiting for him. But his eyes are glued to the ground. A word from her lips would do the trick, she knows, but for some reason she hesitates. Unspoken words die before they’re given life.

So instead she waits.

She waits for him to see her , for the way his face would light up. Maybe it would be one of the times the smile would reach his eyes.

She waits for way he’ll run up to meet her, draw her into his arms. Maybe it wouldn’t be one of the times he’d hug too tight, suffocating her.

But he doesn’t.

His eyes stay downward, and his feet move him forward and forward and past her.

Past to where her tombstone stands cold and ominous, his hands trembling as they reach out to touch it.

“I’m sorry… I’m so sorry”, his words barely audible, so she moves a little closer.

He’s fallen to his knees now, hands hugging the dirt, forehead to the ground, his body shuddering with the force of his grief.

She stands by his side now, places a hand on his back, knowing be won’t feel it, knowing she can’t comfort him, knowing the words he desperately needs to hear,

she does this instead,

Leans down, wraps her arms around his neck, whispers in his ear,

she says this instead,

“I’ll never forgive you”.

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