Friday, 6 December 2013
She slammed the door shut as she left, she wasn't coming back.
The tears trickled down his cheeks, dripped from his chin, joining the shards and fragments that littered the floor.
He brought the dustpan and brush from the kitchen, knelt down, and began to clear up the remains of seven years.
Slowly and deliberately he scooped into the dustpan the pieces of broken promises, shattered dreams, smashed hopes, and a fractured heart.
With each stoke of the brush fresh tear drops landed, then lengthened and tapered as the bristles caught them, like tiny salt water comets against a polished pine sky.
He returned to the kitchen and emptied the dustpan into the trash.
He slammed the trash can lid shut, mimicking her action with the door. Wiped his eyes dry.
Time to move on.
©2013 Stephen. J. Green.