It’s you again,” she said without looking. The sense of him came to her as quickly as flinging back her hair or pouring a glass of wine. The wind has away with secret doors—there one minute begging you to enter, then suddenly nowhere in sight.
How scary that she didn’t see the truth in it all.
To call it hope would be to sell it short. It’s a facade so expertly crafted. False identities are the number one symptom caused by lying. Pledge to keep the whispers out of the dark and our ankles from sinking in the deep pools that manifest in the caverns from erroneous judgment.
His cold hand now flat on her back.
Soon it will be time to go.
“She left me a note,” he said weakened and beat up by his current reality.
“No, she didn’t,” the woman spoke, her voice could be mistaken for the wind.
“I think she did,” he said now sounding much less certain.
The stars began to fall then, or the mismatched pair started to float among them. No one could quite tell the difference from the two. Any discomfort ceased. The journey reset and quiet fell upon the grass.