He often wondered what his last words would be. His very last thought. The last idea to emanate from his mind before he died. While he held her wrinkled old hand. And looked into her gray eyes. Perhaps he would’ve simply said goodbye. Perhaps he would’ve said, “I love you.”
It didn’t matter now. She was gone. And he could think of nothing to say. He was empty, and his mind was empty. No words. No thoughts. Only a dark empty cavern in which he cowered, shivering and primitive.