For the ones who feel it the most
He died for the love of her. Even after he died, he still hung around their apartment, drifting through their collected things, watching her as she tried to adjust to life without him. She still said good night to him and still bought too many groceries, temporarily forgetting that she needed to downsize her life. He saw all the things that were normal and good and familiar to him, but since he was dead, he also began to see things his own earthly eyes could not see. Like the way she burned in the middle of the night when she wept and reached out to the empty space beside her. Like the way sparks followed in her wake and the way the light grew brighter as she read late into the night.
She didn't know he was there. She pretended he was there, but felt that she was only fooling herself. He followed her about like a lost dog, trying to catch her attention and knowing that he couldn't. But that didn't stop him from trying. Because every once in a while, she would look up, remembering, and smile in his direction, and her smile was like a flame.
She didn't know he was there. She pretended he was there, but felt that she was only fooling herself. He followed her about like a lost dog, trying to catch her attention and knowing that he couldn't. But that didn't stop him from trying. Because every once in a while, she would look up, remembering, and smile in his direction, and her smile was like a flame.