The man solemnly approached the charred skeleton of his house, old thoughts of lit candles, their flames dancing on burnt wick lighting every window, flowed behind his eyes flushing out a tear.
His boots kicked up thick, black ash and soot as he shambled closer to his door, one of the few things left standing resembling a structure amongst pillars that once held a living box full of memories.
He stopped in front of it; a tear leaving a trail of moisture on his dry cheek as it splashed loudely onto his door step into a slug of dust and moisture.
He wanted in.
He needed inside his home.
What he'd lost was heavier than all he had left.
He turned around, whirling a choking cloud of house and bone, started away. Head down.
He stopped midway down his lot.
as his aged ears picked up
on the all too familiar sound
of the springs in his doorknob
twisting and turning