The Visitor

The fire had died down to embers by the time their lovemaking had finished, and they lay exhausted on the thick hearth rug.

She reached out a bare arm to toss a few sticks onto the coals, which quickly caught aflame. 

Already, he felt her slipping away. He slid arms around her, held on tightly and tearfully. “Don’t go,” he pleaded, weeping.

“I won’t,” she replied, warm breath against his ears, yet so very far away.

His sweat-shiny arms were empty.

A few burning sticks crackled on the fire. 

Her picture smiled down from the mantel.

“See you soon.”

*

Copyright Ben Knight

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