Short Stories: Love

The Sky is Crying

The sky is crying tears of pain. My father had died and the only one left is me and mine. My heart aches but in the end the only thing left is the grave and the garden that he owned. I decided to take care of both for him.

The sky is crying tears of calm. The garden is doing well and the flowers my father loved are thriving. The ache has turned to a throb and if I close my eyes, maybe I can mistake that throb for a beat.

The sky is crying tears of rage. The garden is a mess. Someone had stolen flowers, picking carelessly at the well-maintained plants. There will be retribution for this. I swear, father, your plants will be safe.

The sky is crying tears of sorrow. I did catch the thief but I didn't expect it to be like this. They are coping much like I am. Their sister is gone and their nephew dead, both of them buried side-by-side. They spoke of illness and heartbreak yet still forgave me for my rudeness. I showed my father's grave and together we mourned.

The sky cried tears of joy. We dined together, sang together and laughed together. The throb is now a beat and never has it sounded like a festive drum. I've stopped tending to the garden with sorrow and instead with joy. The garden has as much memories of us as it has of me and my father. Never have I felt so at peace than on this day.

The sky is crying tears of pride. Our love is long and our days warm as we continued to love even if it seemed ready to fade. Our hands are wrinkled and our children are taller than we are but we still tend to the garden together. We may be fading but our hearts are still strong. I'm sure my father and their sister and nephew are watching over us and ready to accept us with open arms.

(The sky cried when they are buried beside each other. Their gravestones designed with a blooming lily. Below their names the words, 'Bloom' and 'Flower' are written.)