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What happens when you drop a pebble in still water and the rippling effects of its presence can't be ignored.
Meeting someone would have been coincidental, could have been fate or perhaps a mistake like bumping shoulders in a mass of peo...
Funmi lets her fingers dance on the letters carved in the gravestone, the eerie feeling that settled within wouldn't seem to go away and she hated it. She hated the quiet, the amplified sounds of rain and crickets but not his laughter. And it was worse the way she held the flowers in her frostbitten fingers tightly when her tears fell. She never got him flowers, she never did that when he lived.
The emotions hit her all at once, the incoherent sound of pain claws out of her throats in a wail. Was it always this quiet? Maybe if she breathed in deeply and believed it in her heart, then she'd wake up and he'd be here.
Firm hands wrap around her trembling body about to give out from under her. He smells the same, like old books, coffee and frosting. He's grown a stubble and some weight but even if he turned green and spotted a leopard print coat, she wouldn't mind the changes. "It's okay, it's okay. Use your legs, use your legs Joan-- that's it." His voice was scratchy like he hadn't used it in a while.
She hadn't noticed her legs had given out, she leans against his shoulder while he supported her weight. Literally and figuratively, he always seemed to support the weight.
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