103 Notes
Pietà
I walked past a crying woman sitting on a bench, her wailing face turned to the sky. Tears streamed unhidden down her face and she held her arms wide. At her feet, a purse lay on its side, spilling its lip balms and mustard packets onto the beaten ground.
Stunned by how open she was in her grief and forgetful of my place as a stranger to her, I opened my mouth to ask her if there was anything I could do.
Also forgetful of the fact that I was currently in a contest with myself to see how many chocolate chip cookies I could fit in my mouth at one time.
It was seventeen.
But they were the little ones.
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smartasshat reblogged this from atsween and added:
Despite appearances, this story has...happy ending. You see,
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