It was a gentle breeze that flew in through the window. It carried with it a song, and the windchime’s soft music joined it.
George smiled, almost as if he had been waiting for it, and he had. Others thought he was mad, but he knew the zephyr came every year on the date at that time.
“It’s time to let go, George, it has been eleven years,” he knew they would say. But his answer, like the breeze, never changed.
“Even if I did, she wouldn’t,” he would reply, holding on to the memory of his wife for one more day.
(© Vinay Leo R. @ I Rhyme Without Reason,
30th April, 2018)