Opal sat alone, stirring her now stone-cold coffee, lost in thought. The café moved in a whirl of colour and sound, people going about their lives in fast-forward, while she moved in slow motion. Sealed off in her bubble of silence, of peace, she saw a face before her that was so very, very different than those of the others in the room. It was a beautiful face, scarred and lined from a million betrayals, but somehow more glorious for the fact that it had made it through all of them. This was a face that had seen the rain, and now shone in sunlight. It was a face she knew in her dreams, a face that looked at hers in equal parts adoration and intense, heartbroken longing.
Her features mimicked his, sadness and love aging her face long beyond her youthful years. His ghost-hand reached out its elegant, musical fingers and her small hand followed, until their fingertips met in the middle. A tear rolled down her cheek, as the beautiful image shattered before her eyes, her fingers still extended, reaching out to thin air.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment