Departure

She sat facing the glowing skyline. It was beautiful. It was all beautiful.
But she could not see it.
She sat, eyes unfocused, mind in a distant field.
"Little lady?" he called. She didn't answer, but he knew. They both knew. He threw his legs over the ledge beside hers and they both sat in the calm, contemplative peace of the settling sun.
Then she said, "I failed."
"No you haven't. Not yet," he quipped.
"It would be different," she replied, "if I were getting up again."
"You are up."
"Not up in that direction." She sighed. "I don't know - I don't remember how I use to be, but I don't think I can be that anymore."
"But you don't have to be..." He paused for search of a better word. "This."
She shrugged. "But I've decided to be."
He looked at her sadly. They were still, both for a time.
"I might," she voiced haltingly, "change my mind."
He looked up with the slightest flicker of hope.
"In time."
It blew out.
"Will it be soon enough?"
"Let us - we must - pray so."
His forehead creased into a frown. "I will pray, little lady," he said. Her lips twitched.
And since it was the truth, and nothing else need be said for she had said all she had to and he had listened as he was obliged, he pulled back his legs and left.
And she, leaving the blank pages of prayers on the table, crawled into her bed and pulled the covers up over her head.

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