The weeks and months rolled on. Nothing changed. Until …an afternoon in mid-March, when Melie, unbidden, stood at the entrance to Ye Olde Antique Shoppe and let herself be sucked once more into its vortex. Nature abhors a vacuum, Melie thought, so maybe I am needed here. Expected.
She stood suspended in an anteroom of sorts, cloudy and dim, light filtering in from distant windows. Sheaths of dust motes, whole galaxial milky ways, crisscrossed around her, gently entrapping her in their celestial design.
As she gazed upon the play of light against the surfaces, she strayed from her spot. Her right foot caught in a spoke of a wheel and she nearly toppled down into a tattered blue baby carriage. But she managed to right herself and brought forth from the ancient carriage, rocking slightly on its giant wooden wheels, a miniature white lace pillow, too big for a doll, too small for her own head. Impulsively she clutched it to her bosom like a packet of love letters and sighed, “Ohh.”
It was Him.
Click Follow to receive emails when this author adds content on Bublish