By James Wadman

She sat silent as if calculating something out of place or recounting a dream she had just nearly lost. There was a shadow where her eyes met the corners of the room, where brittle white paint joined a slight stone ridge above wooden floors.

Every morning I would walk into this room and see her staring, and the creaks of my footsteps across the floor couldn’t break her concentration. Yet I never took the time to realize that she sat there watching a shadow come and go as the sun circumvented the obstruction that cast it.

“We are finite,” she said, when she realized I finally noticed her shadow.

Related Posts Plugin for WordPress, Blogger...

One thought on “The End of a Dream

Comments are closed.