The weight of nothing is heavy. Heavier than it ought to be, she thought.
Trapped inside of everything’s vise, unnamed articles cluttering up her life of days and nights. These things of life, no thing, every thing—nouns—left, abandoned without even a dangling participle at their helm.
Love, just another thing, hanging heavier in its absence.
She packed her bags and bourbon, the weight of which made more sense. But left them behind. One last pirouette in knee-highs just for kicks. She’s still light on her feet. The same musical laugh.
Unleashed misty pain, Mother Nature shared her shame at the mouth of the river. An umbrella kept the direct droplets from soaking her dress, but the mist like his neglect clung to her sodden heart. Bland irony struck from the dangling item in her hand; a thing, the thing, that could have saved him.
Her last cigarette lit, she inhaled only loneliness while waving goodbye to regret.
© Grace Black
Written for Flash! Friday Micro Fiction Contest
Go write one!