By A. N. Rhodes
It’s not her. It can’t be.
There’s no way that it could be her. Her grey hair, curling around those small ears. Those crows’ feet crinkling at the corner of her eyes.
She’s gone. I left her behind. I left her in a state of panic, in a dry and arid nation on the other side of the world. So how could she be here sitting below the aspens, staring out at the water cascading over the falls?
She turns around. Her eyes catch mine.
But it’s not her.
It’s just her memory that continues to haunt me every damn day.
that bittersweet moment is captured well. We feel the yearning that perhaps it will be her, even though she left her far behind forever. Poignant
Our subconscious is a powerful companion. You’ve captured it well here.