5.25

"I guess it's the anniversary in six days," he said. I could only make out his silhouette in the dark room. Beyond him, the weak candle strained against the inveterate night. I could hear the sharp whine of his sigh over the sound of the wind on the glass. "With her gone, I don't think there's any reason to celebrate." I wanted to say Don't be like that or But the past doesn't own you or There will be next year, but I wasn't sure any of them were true. Not for him.
He turned to me and I couldn't see anything of his face, but I knew the eyes were dark and deep-set behind furious brows. I imagined his pain written across his features. It was horrible to look at, that aching face in the blackness. "What will I do without her?" Go on, I screamed, but I said nothing. Live your life. Just because you lost something, you can't let go of the rest. He thrust his hand deep into his pocket and drew out a small something, which he held to the light. I couldn't see it--had never seen it--but I knew what it was. He didn't trust me that way, didn't trust many people at all, really. But it was no secret that he still kept a small memory of her with him wherever he went.