Obviously, I can't think of a title for this one. Picking a title is a lot more difficult than I expected, as it sets the tone for the whole piece.
This one isn't from the archives; I've been working on it last weekend.
I open my eyes and I see her face. It seems that she has been crying for quite some time: eyes swollen, face stained with tears. Her friends gather around her, offering consoling words.
"It's okay, we're here for you."
"Don't waste your tears on him, he doesn't deserve you."
Not long ago, things were different. She was happy with him. I saw them a lot when they were still together. They were holding hands, sharing a meal, exchanging sweet nothings. I saw how happy she was by the look in her eyes: the way they twinkled, the way they reflected me as I danced with joy for them.
Things changed that one winter's night. I was alone with him--or so I thought. We were watching the snow fall out the window. Then, there was a knock on the door... I didn't realize that he was expecting someone. He seemed hesitant to answer at first, but then he strengthened his resolve by downing a glass filled with wine. He's been drinking, I realized, a bit too much. He answered the door, and when I saw that who came in was not her, I knew that there's gonna be trouble.
I had to let her know, but I didn't know how. She has been busy; I rarely saw her making dinner. There was this one night when she got home more tired than usual, that I saw her preparing her bath. I took a chance and tried to catch her attention, but all I did was irritate her--I think I even hurt her--and she blew me off.
That was the last time I saw her, until now. And now they are no longer together. She is no longer with him, but with her friends, crying. She looks defeated, forlorn. I wanted to console her. I wanted to hug her--but I can't do that, I might hurt her again. But I wanted to help her so badly.
Then, she reaches out and holds something in front of me. It is a photograph of them together. I was there, too. It was taken during one of their dinner dates. I look at her as she holding the photograph, a glimpse of hesitation in her eyes. I then realize what she needs to do, and what I can do to help. She needs to let go. She needs to start moving on. And now I know what I should do for her.
I need to let it burn.