What can YOU say in six sentences?
Damp air still embraces the chill of winter and the only life hearty enough to brave the cold are the crows, swathed in feathers as black as the dress I wore to his funeral.
I don’t count myself as one of the strong, daring the bitter winds to dig in the soil on this particular morning, for I feel as barren as the field across the drive.
“That’s not true,” he says.
“But isn’t it?” I reply; my life as I knew it—as I loved it—had changed forever.
“Changed, like hues on the leaves, but not dead,” Ben says.
“Like you,” I reply, because I can’t help but remind him of the cold reality where my dreams now sleep.