|Found on google images. I own nothing.|
I fumbled with the clasp on the worn sweater. Warmth seeped in from the slightly linty knit as I sucked in a breath and tried to keep it together even as I knew I was falling apart. There was some little bit of whatever that wasn't sorted just yet and I didn't know what would come next.
I didn't really want to know.
She was gone.
I would miss her.
We would all miss her.
And yet, somehow, the only thing that anchored me in the moment was one of her old sweaters. A three-quarters sleeve specimen with a tarnished gold clasp and a few snags in the bottom of the loose magenta knit. It was a pretty sweater, maybe, back when it was new.
She was a pretty person, maybe, back before her heart had fallen through. But what did I know? I wasn’t really someone special to her, I was just there. Sometimes. Not all the time, but there. Still. A shadow. Someone who knew where the light came through.
I did respect her. No matter what they had all said and done, she was just like me. Just like us.
Another human being.
She deserved better.
Just like the rest of us.
I would never forget. Ever.
(c) Sara Harricharan