The Lake

You stood beside the lake, crestfallen, steel blue eyes weeping salty tears into the freshwater lake. This place was so beautiful in the summer. We had a perfect angle on the sun, right next to that old oak where the bank sloped down and we caught the fading light in all its fractal beauty. The day I drowned we had carved our initials in the sappy flesh of the tree. I could see you beyond the membranous skin of water as I felt a tug from the deep, felt a coldness greater than those ancient glaciers that forged the rift in this landscape. Time for me is different now. I only know of its passing because I see it in the features of your face, each time you return to flesh out the initials on the tree. I want to tell you not to mourn for me. I want to tell you that there is more to this universe than these physical shells we carry about us. But you will see that for yourself, in time. When you feel that tug in the cold, dark night, do not be afraid.

(c) Darren Hawbrook

I wrote this piece based on the picture prompt above.