She opened her eyes and peered through the fogged glass and hazy greyness blanketing the distant horizon. Droplets of water ran like tears in rivulets down the windowpane. The glass was cold and hard under the weight of her resting forehead, and she welcomed it. Though her thoughts were empty and featureless, she felt heavy, and the chill acted as a warden forcing her feelings to move sluggishly and half-heartedly. The crying world outside was a precise reflection of her inner sadness, and she smiled softly. It was just one of those random times in life when pensiveness and sorrow felt perfect for every reason in the world or for no reason at all.
She breathed deeply and held her breath, as if trying to hold the melancholy within her as long as she could before letting go of it. As she released her breath, the warm air escaped the confines of her lips to coat the glass in a blanket of fog. She lifted a hand to the canvas and painted an awkward smiling face, crooked and charming in its simplicity, and noted how it resembled a smirk rather than the smile it had meant to be. The corners of her own lips curved upwards wistfully, she added a wild, peaked mane of hair and angry eyebrows. Slowly, the warmth left behind from her finger succumbed to cold, and the face was reclaimed by the chilly mist. Her own smile dissipated with that of one on the window, and her eyes focused to the landscape outside.
The day was grey and lonely and everything appeared to droop as if mourning. The only sound was that of the rain clinking against the roof and the blowing wind. The whole world was grieving. She closed her eyes to focus inward. The soft ache in her chest was dense and throbbing as it pulsed with every beat of her heart. Its heat was only enough to lock the air in her lungs, leaving the rest of her body to succumb to the frost of numbness. She placed her hand over her breastbone and felt the ebb and flow of blood as it was forced through her chest by a heart that seemed to wail in anguish with every thump.
Her head fell back to rest against the windowsill on which she leaned and a gasp burst from her lips. The breath that had been stuck erupted from her throat in quiet spasms, and though she hadn't expected them, she allowed the tears to fill her eyes.
From her right, a gentle force took her chin and tilted her head upwards. Her eyelids fluttered as she opened them. He caressed her lower lip with the pad of his thumb, a question burning in his intense eyes. She gazed up at him and lifted her arms to clasp his hand within her own. Her lips parted and she kissed the meat of his palm. He briefly cradled her cheek and then lowered himself to sit across from her, then opened his arms. She was quick to rush into them, resting her temple against his chest to take in his warmth.
He smoothed her hair and let her cry silently against him. Today was the day. It was in some other timeline and it had happened to some other version of himself, leaving a different version of her behind… but every year on this day, she mourned the other woman's loss of him as though it were her own.
He bent his head and took in the scent that was uniquely hers as he cradled her against him, and his own eyes stung with unshed tears. For his own woman, for the other woman who had lost him, but mostly for the other version of himself who had never found peace.