Wind: A Six Sentence Story

"I'm sorry," she whispered from her perch on the porch steps, the gentle evening breeze stirring her cotton skirt around her bare feet, and she watched through tear dampened lashes as he turned and walked away from her. As he retreated down the gravel lane, she wrapped her arms around her knees, hugging them to her as though she were trying to hold all of her grief inside until eventually, profound sadness overcame her, her head dropping to her knees, and she wept, first silently, then with increasing intensity until she was sobbing uncontrollably, her body rocking to and fro with the rhythm of her sorrow.

She cried until long after the crunching of his footsteps faded away, and when she had used up every tear, she lifted her face to the setting sun, her tear-streaked cheeks glistening in the waning light, and inhaled deeply, her body shuddering with exhaustion. Closing her eyes, she leaned against the porch rail and pictured the box of memories of him she had stored in her mind: his face, his voice, his laugh, his smell, the feel of his arms around her, of his lips against hers. She tenderly removed each memory, one at a time, recalling each moment with him and causing a stirring so deep within her at each thought that it sent a tingle all the way down to her toes. But as she finished reliving each cherished memory, she tore it into bits and made an imaginary pile in her lap, and when the box was empty, she rose with a sigh and slowly walked into the house, the bits and pieces of him falling to the porch floor, where, stirred by the wind, they scattered down the lane and disappeared from her sight.

Linking up with Ivy at Uncharted for Six Sentence Stories with the prompt "wind."