True Colours By Split Enz
Bell’s father saved every scrap of stained glass.
One afternoon, she arranged the pieces into a colorful mosaic.
“It doesn’t look like anything,” she sighed.
He held it toward the sunlight.
Red and green danced across the walls.
“Sometimes,” he smiled, “beautiful things don’t need a name.”
Written for Mike’s unofficial challenge:
About the Creator
A. Bell
I write about the things we don't always know how to say out loud: grief, love, fear, hope, and all the messy spaces in between.
If something here makes you feel, I'm glad you found me.
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