A small amount of ash fell off the ember of his cigarette, into the ice, as he poured over the remains of his bottle of scotch. He stroked his grey and black hairs protruding unevenly from his face and pushed the white hair back behind his faded and bloodshot blue eyes. Blue eyes in which you could see the stories of his life pouring through from underneath. His hand brushed over his leather bound copy of Paradise Lost. He took another drag of smoke and then preceded to mutilate the remains of the scotch. He flicked to the never changing words, the inscription on the first page, re-read so many times it was seared into his brain.
Tom,
I know you always wanted the first edition.
You know I will make it through this battle.
Happy Birthday.
With all my heart,
Katie.
XX
He put out the cigarette in the ice and it stood like a candle on a cupcake. She wrote it four years ago, he thought, as his big blue eyes started leaking.
Image Credit: JC Bonassin
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