Jeff had died eight years ago and still she cried. Maybe not as often as she had in the beginning when she was stunned, not knowing how she would cope on her own. But still on a daily basis. The rooms felt empty bereft of his presence. The smallest reminder of him would make waterfalls of her eyes. She wanted to move on but she seemed stuck. Now here she was again. Jeff had risen early to photograph rain drops. As she looked closely she resolved no more crying for me. My face can’t afford this kind of magnification.
Word Count : 99
Rochelle invites us to write 100 words or less in response to Santoshwriter’s photo prompt. Link up via the frog to see others here