Death
As the numbers in the line lessen, she moves up, patiently waiting her turn. Face screwed up in anguish, she is past tears. I silently step out of line and move away, turning just as she slides her hand down his cheek, whispering sweet nothings in his cold, pale ear. No longer being able to handle the sight of her ancient face lined with pain, I turn away. Speeches are said and the limos are filled, laughter filling mine, all pain forgotten. The limo pulls through the gate, circling once, twice and the rain pours. Stepping out into a puddle of mud, her face appears through the mist. Watching one last time as he is lowered into the ground, never to return. His time has come.