She looked out the window. It was covered with raindrops from the outside, which gave it a kaleidoscope-like effect. With a sigh she let her consciousness slip away, not thinking about anything. She needed the peace and quiet, only interrupted by the outside dripping. In an odd way, it felt like the sky was crying on her behalf, which made her able to relax. Just being, without having to take any choices or deal with any thoughts. Just breathing in a pace that made her feel like it all was going to be okay again. When she once again opened her eyes. When the sky once again was clear. It was going to be okay.
He got home without making a sound. He knew how she liked to sleep during the day. He knew how she would often sit near the window, minding her own business, being in a world far out of his grasp. He knew that even though he was always so close to her, he could never really reach her. Never quite stretch his grasp far enough to touch her. But despite of that, or maybe exactly because of that, he kept trying. Dripping with water, he went past the living room, where she was sitting. She seemed so small. But that’s how it is with things that are far away. Like stars. And just like stars, she too, only sparkled and twinkled at night. She too, just seemed alive, but had died a long time ago.
Regaining consciousness, she heard small sounds of rustling. Looking out the window, she found the rain had stopped, and that the sun was on the way down. With drowsy eyes, and a mind that wasn’t really there, she got up. Following the sounds, a man stood in front of her. He looked at her with a kind and caring smile, but also pain. A sadness. The smile gave her a feeling of nostalgia. It made her almost feel like she knew this person, and then again, not really. The sadness made her chest ache with sorrow herself. Wondering why a stranger was in her house, she felt intruded on, but yet, calm.
He noticed her straight away. Her dark light hair, that once had been heavy, but full with life. Her hazy eyes, that once had sparkled every time they had looked his way. Her disorderly clothes, and mixed socks, that was put on with much effort, but still was the wrong way out somewhere, and just not completely on elsewhere. Her mouth, that she had forgotten how to use. The mouth he so often had looked at, thinking whether or not he should shut her up by pressing his lips against hers. The words that was stuck in her throat, that usually came flowing out, with amazing ideas, wonderful expressions, and a lot of nagging. He almost missed her nagging the most.