Letters

One.

She stood by his marble stone which was adorned with dead flowers and pictures of him. His beautiful curls and precious smile on his face in the pictures was always the same. His dimples that snuck onto his face when he stretched his plump lips wide in a grin. His delicate green eyes which stared softly and peacefully into the camera. All the things she missed dearly. All the things that made a tear slip onto her pale skin.
She felt so lost with no one to hold, or love anymore. The eerie silence with the exception of the birds chattering, deepened the sadness she felt. To the point where her heart felt cold and rock hard in her chest. Her legs bent gracefully and she sat down on her knees, surrounded by her long black dress which formed a circle around her.

'I miss you.' She said.

Yet another tear slipped down onto her cheek followed by a stream of inevitable tears. She sobbed and buried her head in her hands.

'Harry,' she stuttered between her rapid breathing and crying 'Harry, please.'

The beautifully broken girl sat pleading to God knows who. Harry was far gone. A fragment of the past. A faint stream of memories. But not to Florence. She sat shakily, crying on the overgrown weeds as she traced his portrait in the picture. Around Harry's grave were a trail of withered petals, which were once vibrant and lively. They lay scattered with browning edges and wrinkled surfaces. Florence reached into her small canvas bag and retrieved a damp rag. She ran the rag over the marbled stone and began to cry harder as she ran it over Harry's portrait. A picture of them together, enveloped in each other's arms on the beach. Harry's arm lay over Florence's shoulder as he looked contently in her eyes. Florence had her green eyes wrinkled shut in a laugh, her body wrapped in a velvety red shawl.

They were in love. Deeply.

Florence lay her hand on the ground and grasped a fist of grass, as if holding his hand.

'Harry.' She sniffed.

She wiped her eyes, mascara
smeared everywhere. Her pretty smile was no longer plastered apon her face but rather a sad-eyed frown. Florence lay her head against the marble stone and ran her fingers through her ratty hair. She almost chuckled, almost, at her insanity. She was slowly becoming insane at the predictable life she lived now. Everyday Florence awoke and turned to her side to be reminded no one was there to cuddle her in a loving embrace. She took no notice and frankly, no care in many aspects of her life. What did it matter to her if no one was there to hold her hands and smooth their thumbs over her skin, telling her she was beautiful. The mere thought of forgiving herself and moving on made an even more sickening feeling wash over her.

It was as if the weight of grief was more agonizing than physical pain. And as time goes by, the nature of the mind is to mask the pain by covering it and turning away. This way the pain lessens. But the pain is never fully gone.

Florence held Harry so dear to her heart. He was so close to her, yet so far. He was right in her heart, but also right beneath her, six feet under.