by Liz Cawte
(Newbury, England, United Kingdom)
She lay on her bed, the pictures taken out of their albums spread out around her. His shirt in her arms, It just wasn’t the same. She needed to feel his flesh for one more time, his hands, where they belonged, in hers. His smell, so familiar, his eyes, his hair all painted a picture in her mind. He had sent her a letter, the last thing he had ever sent her. His handwriting, his words, his thoughts, captured on paper forever. The paper even smelt like him, the letter itself only contained three words written so carefully in blue ink. “Dum Spiro Spero” three simple words, left only for her eyes. She knew what it meant, translated it said “As long as I live, I hope”. Her eyes drowned out by the tears that ran down her soft face like an over flowing river. The salty taste that entered her mouth as she lay there, helpless, nothing was right now. Only he made things better, only he made her smile, only he knew her inside out. Her bathroom now steamy, peaceful and relaxing, she slowly took off her clothes but kept hold his letter and the picture of them sat in front of a sunset. She slowly got into the hot, clear, steamy bath. The water spilled out at the sides along with her tears, but she did not care as her make-up was already ruined by the lonely tears, running down her face. Still holding the picture and letter, she lay down in the bath. The letter gently floated to the top and the ink ran off the page and into her peaceful bath water. For if he is not alive, there was no hope. Quietly, softly, she slept in patient silence, waiting to see him again.