They had lived a good life.
In love, before they knew the words, the acceleration, the rush, the declaration to the sun, the moon and the stars.
It had come easily, slowly, softly, like tipper tapper of the rain on the tin roof and a pot of hot soup tricking drop by drop hushing the heat to stop the burn but through the storms and the calms they danced to the sound of two heartbeats echoing each other.
Love in its simplest form nestled in ritualism and traditions.

One day,
She found a lump on her left breast.
Another day,
He suffered a heart attack and was pronounced dead..

The funeral director told the daughter and the son that their parents had purchased two burial plots 15 years prior, numbers 3 and 4.

The brother looked at the sister numb and indecisive.
Which one would be their father's final resting place..
She thought for a moment and said, ‘Three is before four, he should have plot number three’
He was buried 3 days later.

After two years of battling cancer, life became meaningless and she didn’t care to fight the hallowed emptiness of a shell.
She was buried in plot number four.

He died in March,
She died in April.

Three and Four.
Written by Layla
All writing remains the property of the author. Don't use it for any purpose without their permission.
likes 7 reading list entries 5
comments 4 reads 158
souladareatease Zazzles badmalthus Josh cold_fusion
Commenting Preference: 
The author encourages honest critique.

Latest Forum Discussions
Today 1:02pm by JohnnyBlaze
Today 11:17am by souladareatease
Today 11:13am by souladareatease
Today 11:09am by souladareatease
Today 9:54am by gardenlover
Today 8:23am by Tallen