The last to die

The sofa was comfortable. She always picked a sofa in the corner, where she could sit facing the door, but far enough from the entrance to make this place warm and cosy, not disturbed by the cold wind that was trying to penetrate the space. There was also a big window nearby, and she could watch the street and the raindrops in the paddles. The window was an excuse to sit there alone without the embarrassment of having no book or no smartphone in her hand. There was just a glass of ginger tea and an ashtray on the table. It was one of those places where a woman could still enjoy a cigarette or two without disapproving looks and without freezing her ass off. She wasn't smoking, but she enjoyed having options.

She was choosing the same sofa for many years now. Her waiting was stripped of excitement. She was like a patient who is expecting the doctor coming in with the results at the oncology ward. The events were passing in front of her eyes. The same faces. The same words. The same life stories and questions. When she was still in her thirties, she remembered, it used to be thrilling to sit there all by herself. Beautiful memories were like a curse because nothing could compare to the past. The pictures of the yesterday used to be in full colour, and today they came in black and white. Mostly black.

The sofa was comfortable because something had to make the situation at least a little bit more bearable. She was waiting for inevitable like she couldn't just get up and leave. Something kept her hostage in the corner, something stronger than constant disappointment and never-ending remorse. Something made her patient enough to keep looking in the empty eyes of those who came to beg for a substitute of warmth.

The last to die

She stopped smiling long time ago, but sometimes, when she closed her eyes, she could see one more great love waiting for her somewhere outside, in the rain.

This is how he first saw her: sitting alone in the corner, with her head tilted to the side, eyes closed, and almost invisible smile.