by Rick Bylina
With unabashed sadness, the monsoon of tears erupted from her hazel eyes, flowing down her face unabated, streaking indifferently her dark mascara, and lingering with regret on her chin before dropping to stain her red blouse. She shuddered and drew her burgundy jacket close to hide from prying eyes that knew the truth, suspected the truth, or suspended judgment absorbed in their empathetic grief. Gusty winds blew away comforting words like the last dead leaves on the nearby shivering oak that flittered across the grounds. He stood so close his aftershave wafted over her in waves, but yet a sliver of morning light sliced between them and shined on the small graveside plaque. She wrapped her fingers tightly around his hand seeking a touch of warmth and found none, realizing now that she knew for sure. The decision to terminate had not been mutual after all.
Rick Bylina is a writer living in Apex, North Carolina. His particular brand of writing inspiration can be found here.