Drawing Series -

"There's no door there, Elias," she said softly, gesturing to the blank plaster wall.

The drive was three hours. He didn't listen to music or the radio. He just drove, the image of the drawn door burning behind his eyes. drawing series

He drew the coffee maker, unused. He drew the half-empty jar of her favorite marionberry jam, pushed to the back of the fridge. He drew the dust motes dancing in the shaft of afternoon light that used to catch the auburn in her hair. "There's no door there, Elias," she said softly,

She was older, of course. They both were. But the light on her face was the same. He saw it now with a clarity he had been missing for years. The soft shadow under her lower lip. The way the crow's feet at her eyes were not flaws, but records of every smile she'd ever given him. He just drove, the image of the drawn

Then, on a Tuesday in late October, Mira left.