Photo by panyawat auitpol on Unsplash
The mourners stroll past,
“Sorry for your loss”, they say.
I smile, “Its okay.”
About the Creator
Michèle Nardelli
I write...I suppose, because I always have. Once a journalist, then a PR writer, for the first time I am dabbling in the creative. Now at semi-retirement I am still deciding what might be next.
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More stories from Michèle Nardelli and writers in Poets and other communities.
Final Call
She flings her arms around my neck and squeezes me like she’s never going to let me go. My head spins as her lips brush against my cheek. She must be able to feel my heart thumping in my chest. I shuffle backwards and ram my hands into my coat pockets, watching her reach down and heave the rucksack across her shoulders.
By Caroline Craven3 days ago in Fiction
Comments (2)
Yeah, we don't really know what to say.
Wow!!! Well done!!!💕❤️❤️