She's on page one. The very beginning of the book.
Her slippered feet shuffle down the hall. One hand on the wall sometimes, or fingers wrapped around mine. But she's holding on less and less these days. Letting go.
***
She's lost count of the pages by now but they're filled with so many words. Paragraphs of pain, maybe, but the overarching theme has been one of love. It doesn't take deep literary analysis to see that. I watch her walking down the hall, slippered feet shuffling. She hesitates at the floor transition, one hand on the wall, unsure of her next step. She's holding on more and more these days. Someday soon she'll let go.
And I'll hold her hand once more.
