The flowers wither and crumble, fragile, like my heart beating its anguish above a stomach so constricted my navel pushes against my spine.
Hot tears pool to the floor to lie with questions which will forever remain unanswered.
Grief has changed the earth beneath my feet and I stumble against it on legs that are weak and trembling, no longer strong enough to support me. You’re not there to catch me. I am left in this black and white world without you.
In memory of Ian Hawley who taught me kindness, unconditional love and a mean game of poker. You raised me well. Taken all too soon on 2nd December 2014.
Written for Friday Fictioneers. 100 words inspired by a prompt. Read the other entries here.