By Lena
The Moon watched the old man: his sagging skin, his tired eyes. Too shaky to hold a pen. Too tired to put on shoes, so barefoot he went. It had been ages since he saw his wildflower.
She had left without him. He felt empty. Alone.
The old man’s breath faltered. His heart stopped. The moon watched the old man’s wife reach for his hand. Her skin was iridescent, transparent. Her touch held the ghost of him. Filling him with warmth from heaven, though the body laid cold.
“It’s time to go,” she said. A soft smile spread. “It’s time, George.”
Beautiful!
gorgeous
Beautiful and touching.
Nice flow from beginning to end.
Beautiful
This is such a beautiful premise. I hope it’s true!
Intensely beautiful. Thank you x
Her touch held the ghost of him. Love it.
So lovely. <3
Love this story, Lena. Well done!
I can see him, her. I love this poem! Just so beautiful, Lena.
Beautifully done. Lovely.