The widow

Photo by Engin Akyurt on

Her eyes were dug up by tears, and her body was frail from mourning. Her smile was shallow from crying, and her speech was dry from screaming. I couldn’t seem to comfort her. Words of commiseration wasn’t what she needed. I couldn’t seem to smile too much. She’d think I never cared. She was so pail and thin. Life having been sucked from her. Just as death had sucked what she loved. The cold wind swept past her. As it snatched her husband away. Leaving her entitled, ‘The widow’

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