***
The last time I see her, I'm almost too weak to open my eyes. The weight of age wears them down, and yet, she still looks as beautiful as ever.
My willow fingers grip her flower hands, then move to her face where a single tear makes its way down her cheek.
"Hi," I say.
"I've been waiting for you to speak."
"So why not speak first?"
"Because I'm not good at beginnings or endings, just middles."
"Me neither."
"I love you." she says.
"I love you." I say, staring at her for an eternity before my breath leaves me. The last thing I see is her beautiful, smiling/crying, face.
***
ESTÁS LEYENDO
A Rare Burst of Colour
Historia Corta"Autumn, after it has exploded into a brilliant range of colours, proceeds to suck all of them away until the spring, leaving a palette of variations of monochrome shades behind. It is in this weather that our souls colours are revealed and the res...
