The day is not dawning, but is still brand new. Reluctant sunshine slips through the mist that whispers of winter. An echoes-with-the-past day.
The letter he will not read, lies on the table.
She remembers his arms, his skin warm on her face, his heart beating stolen time: once-upon-a-time; once-upon-a-time. Once. Upon. A. Time.
The hymns will have been sung, by now his widow, immaculate in mourning, accepting graveside sympathies for her loss.
She puts a match to the he-will-never-read letter. Flames consume her words. Smoke tears her eyes. The taste of the silence of happily-never-after rubs her throat raw.