A wave blanketed the sand, erasing the foot prints that marked a point of history in its own way. Old memories washed away with the unforgiving salty water, sand castles crumbling at a touch.
Her old locket, the one with her mother's face, disappeared with the water. She ran, tried to catch it, but to no avail; the locket was gone.
Silent sobs filled the misty air, and the sun declined to rise as it, too, was full of grief for this innocent soul.
Another wave crashed ashore, wetting the hem of her skirt lightly. Sorry, it seemed to whisper.
She turned her back to the ocean and found that, under the folds of her skirt, the locket had snuggled into the sand. As if trying to evade being washed away.
YOU ARE READING
Painting Butterflies
Poetry❝how i wish to be free like a spring butterfly❞ a collection of what-nots and distant memories. (c) Farah. 2013.
