The Snow Haze

 

I dwelled on those many photos.

On the sofa in the dark living room.

The memories.

I aged.

Photos have now blurred. But the face is there, crisp.

My eyes cloud. 

I now scarcely look at the color of his clothes, but not the face.

I take off my cape. The room is getting warmer.

Snowfall strikes the window pane, and distracts me.

It has been swooshing outside for a spell.

Not so fortunate this time; the snow clung to the window.

It is loosing form, and texture.

Snow melts, but blurs my view.

That polaroid photo... Fireplace is blazing!

My haze pulls out.

Insouciant; I get up, and edge close to it.

Face impassive.

My hand slacks.

The photo slips into the fireplace.

Fire breathes, and overfires.

I glow brighter. My skin feels hot.

I turn away.

Liberated.

Flame-eyed, I walk to ameliorate.

_________

Flash Fiction on Lifestyle Prism.