10080 minutes.
Seven days.
One week.
That's how long it's been. But every day without you seems like a lifetime.
I walk home alone in the snow. The tiny ice crystals that once filled me with joy were now only adding to the dreariness of my mood and the bitterness of the day. I breathe in sharply, my nose numb from cold. I reach over for you, for protection, for warmth, for love, but you aren't there. It feels foreign, not having you with me. Instead I tighten my grip on your old hat, trying to hold on to what I have left of you.
I still remember the day we met, the day I first came to the Sunshine Islands. You didn't want anything to do with me. But as time went on, you opened up to me, told me your story, and after many Winter Thanks and Starry Night Festivals, told me you loved me. I remember thinking that was the best day of my life.
But I was soon proven wrong. Our wedding day was far greater. I remember thinking you looked handsome as I floated down the aisle. We exchanged our vows and then our gifts; you gave me that amethyst ring to match your eyes, I gave you a blue feather to match mine. The feather slowly wore away, but I still have that ring, even after sixty years.
I remember the day our first child was born. Well, rather the day after. I was in labor for twenty six hours, and afterwards I slept for fourteen. I let you choose her name: Kiera, after your mother. The day she was finally old enough to go swimming in the ocean was the day you told me you wanted another one. It was also the day Kiera drowned. Our plans to bring another child into the world were forgotten.
Our lives were the same for the next fifty years, until I got too old to manage the ranch, and you became too tired to travel. We lived happily from then on out. Until last week.
I stumble into the old ranch house we shared and set your hat on the kitchen table. "I'm home!" I feebly call out, but there was no one to hear me. I rubbed my old, wrinkled hands together in attempt to warm them up. I undid my hair from its braid. It had once been a brilliant chestnut was but now a soft gray.
I walk over to the tiny stove in the corner, thinking about heating up some milk. What's the point I think. Shuffling across the room to my bed, I reclaim your hat from the table. Walking home from your funeral tired me out; I needed sleep. I lay down, clutch your hat close to my heart, and allow a couple tears to fall. "I'll miss you, Vaughn," I moan as I cry myself to sleep.
Yes people, it's very short. So, what did you think? Too blunt? Please review and don't be afraid to say your opinion.