Tracing the outline of her face from a photograph, he felt an unfamiliar moisture on his face. He brought his hand to his cheek to find it wet. Is that tears? Is this what it was to cry?
His heart hurt. He had loved her so. She promised to be with him always, and yet, she simply slipped away, passing in her sleep.
He was a hard man. Cold. He knew it. She loved him anyway. She accepted him. Despite his cold and aloof demeanor, he did try to show her he loved and valued her as well. He took care of her. She wanted for nothing. He just had never been good at expressing those emotions. He supposed that stemmed from his own upbringing.
Oh, how he was going to miss her.
Though he didn’t show it physically, her presence uplifted him every time she walked into the room.
He would miss her humming as she tended to the home.
She took care of everything.
She knew how he liked things.
They rarely ever fought. Yes, they would bicker on occasion, but it was nothing more than that… simple bickering over this or that. They never went to bed mad at each other.
He never wished to see her cry. He devoted his life to her, and her happiness.
Those few occasions that she cried and he was at fault, he felt as if he were punched in the gut, the wind knocked from his lungs.
Now what would he do? He was the picture of health. How could he go on without her?
She would scold him for that little impulsive thought he had of taking his own life.
“Live.” She would tell him.
He traced her beautiful face on the photo once again.
“Goodbye, my angel.” He said softly, his voice edged with a quivering gruffness.
He kissed the photo before placing it on the kitchen table.
They would have coffee together, one last time.
Friday, July 17, 2015
Morning Coffee: A short story
First sentence starter prompt. The sentence being: ‘Tracing the outline of her face from a photograph’