i blinked and woke, not from the sun's blinding rays, but from the sound of tapping on the single window.
with a groan i forced myself off the mattress and headed towards the window, peering downwards. the yard was empty.
a single, fluttering, piece of paper sat on the windowsill.
pulling the window open, i closed my fingers around the paper.
sadness is a wave that crashes over you again and again, pounding you until you can't feel anymore.
it doesn't take water to drown
i flipped the paper over, but it was just the clean white paper.
i scribbled down a message and set it back on the windowsill, shutting the window closed.
YOU ARE READING
37 Days
Short Story❝he was there for 37 days, she needed him for a thousand more❞ 189 5/6/15
