When she leaves, there will be time enough for all the things that should have happened and yet didn’t. When she leaves, a space will open to allow what was yearned for but manifested not. When she leaves — in a week or month or year or decade — a leaf would turn to let the newness grow.
When she leaves.
Yet for the time being she remains.
She has no choice. Or not a real one.
She plods along the rutted path made by the heavy feet she’d dragged so many times before. She does what must be done. She smiles. She nods. She cooks. She holds.
She finds in every day a small reminder of the hope. A sliver of a dream. A memory of what is yet to come.
It sustains her.
It has to.
It’s all she has.
Until she leaves.
For the SoCS writing prompt: Leaves