catirose
The twig was just lying there when she happened upon it. It was remarkably unremarkable, brown and wooden. But she tilted her head and looked at it a moment, before stooping down to pick it up.
I remember my grandmother used to have this one scarf I really adored. It was purple--Well, lavender really. She was so beautiful in it. Her hair didn't all gray at once. The back of her head was brown, but it looked like she had highlights in the front. It was that scarf that really made her hair stand out.
She made a statement that made me take pause. How could such a beautiful woman think something so...unclean? That she should be allowed to die because she had made such a little mistake--It broke his heart. She had led him to his death, by way of her own. There was no Romeo and Juliet to it. It was just death.
It's hard not to wonder if love exists at all, or if it's all just some wonderful concept humanity as an entire human race has devised in order to escape the reality laid out before. The reality of loneliness and fear. I'd rather believe in love than believe in nothing. The door, however, has been opened to doubt.