Originally Written: Sep 9, 2007

Edited: Sep 11, 2025

Time had won. The book came to rest on the cobbled path—a life spent in it, on it.  He sat silently a short distance away. Watching, listening to the screams of protest and painful wails it made. He exhaled puffs of steam in the cold air. Grey, vacant eyes shielded by wire rimmed spectacles let go a sigh and the pressure faded. Reflected colors and memory slid down his wrinkled and careworn visage. Her eyes had pleaded, cried, begged; he was enough, nothing more need be done. Could he not be happy, be satisfied? The separation grew in flame. Voices rang still in his mind. Friends called, she wept, all failed; and in failure he stayed his course. Time heals all wounds, he had thought then. All would fall into place. He could wait. In the spring of life, possessing all dreams seemed possible, but the clock ticked ever on. Snow now fell on his heart, wintry howls replacing the lulling and reassuring whispers of fall. His work became her, and she it. Stone now pumped congealed blood through his body. All the while, the fingers climbed high over the glistening white surface of frozen water. The split grew definite, forever made. His father stood by him now, aching to rekindle the closeness of younger days, but time crushingly snatched the moment, and it eluded him. Flame touched stone now, the only thing immune to it. The cries died in his mind, and silence loomed. Firm evidence of the past lay smoldering before him. Smoke rose above the place where she lay. Red embers faded to nothing, leaving traces of blue across his vision. He took one last look into blue eyes, remembering what was and perhaps should have been. Then he rose, turned, and walked inside, leaving the erasure of his stone heart and shredded soul to time. Healing of a kind.