She sat there drooped like the willow, long after the rain stopped. That was her favourite spot in the garden. She was drenched in water. Her soul soaked in regret.
She thought if she sat still enough, she could stop time too and then turn it back! Her favourite rose bush gleamed. She looked carefully. It was a small drop peering back at her.
She could see her reflection in that tiny drop – inversing reality. Maybe it was not her fault. Maybe it was just her guilt. And then the stinging pang punched a blow. This time harder. Her gut buckled. She held her head in her hands. Sobbing tearless.
She wished she could turn back and go home. To the happy voices, the dinner prayer, the bed-side reading. The home is just a house now. The memories haunt her. The photographs on the wall mock her. She wished she could wash it away. One regret at a time. The rose bush held on to the drop. At least for the moment.
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Photo: Sunday Photo Fictioner