by Abigail Fero
down on the couch in the living room. He leaned over and kissed her forehead, not wanting to see her eyes one last time. Slipping out of the house, he stood and waited for the dawn.
He turned back once to look at the house and saw the press of her hands against the glass of the window. Her face was white. They stared at each other for a long moment before she let the curtain fall between them. He felt her retreat to her room and her sleep under the gaze of the antique mirror.
Standing in the dewy grass, he waited to see the sun. He’d seen the beauty of the night but it was time to see the beauty of the day. It seemed like forever ago since he’d last seen the sun, a memory he couldn’t recall.
The colors bloomed one at a time before blurring together in a haze, and his fierce joy at the beauty burned. The rays of the sun caught in his black eyes and magnified the internal blaze. And then he was flying, scattered on the light breeze of a new day and his thoughts and memories and echoes were spread until there was no unity and eventually no entity.