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Weekly Contest #359
Crying. Yearning and crying. Yearning for a present that isn’t mine, crying for the past that I have lost. The past I lost to her. Who that “her” is exactly, I am unsure. Yet I know exactly where my pain lies. I sit here, the place that was ours both warm and cold all at the same time. Part of it is warm, like the upcoming summer days, the other part is cold, like the days past. It's been about four months since January, and the memory of their face is beginning to fade. Turning into pictures of hands on coffee cups, shoulders bouncing from ...
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