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| PC: Dale Rogerson |
had passed since she last stood here, her heart aching with memories. The old school, its red-brick walls etched with laughter and whispered secrets, now stood silent, as if holding its breath. The swings in the park, once her refuge, swayed gently under the weight of snow, whispering forgotten promises. And there, by the frozen pond, she traced the ghost of her first kiss—a stolen moment that lingered like frost on her lips. Homecomings were meant to warm the soul, but hers felt bittersweet, like snow melting into tears.
This post is written for Friday Fictioneers-16-Feb-24
PS: I used to write every week for 2 years until 2019. I plan to resume back from now on.
