Of His Dead Lover
Sophia refuses to let go. Despite the sun having set, light abides in her eyes. Half the night away Sophia sits in silence. Sophia’s knitted shawl swaddles with comfort. She knew him in more ways than he did, and her ring finger signet signals that. Their matching tattoo the same. Being the mother of his children bore with it a familiarity his dead lover will never know. Is love selfish? Sophia ponders said proclivity. When did Sophia’s absence, in his heart, cause his love for his dead lover to grow fonder, then into a raging flame? She will never know. She concludes she will never know. Some things love carries with it to the grave. This, the living will come to know. © emmett Wheatfall