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Weekly Contest #284
The things that should be familiar to me, are now ghosts in a haunting past. But these things were not always so estranged. The smell of a lavender whisps past me in my sleep, and I dream of you. I see a forest, fallen logs, overgrown with moss, not unlike your eyes and I see you, gazing into my soul. Your hand warmly squeezing my own and I feel you nearby. These things are strangers to me. Things I once swore I would grasp tightly and never let go. Yet, now that they are distant and nearly forgotten they have never been closer. As the memor...
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