Drip. Drip.
"It is raining again, isn't it?
I can barely hear it now
I can barely feel everything."
But there was an ache in her unstable chest
as she closed her unblinking eyes, there was a slightest bit of warmth snuggled in her lids.
She remembered so little
even his face, just the blurry outline came ashore.
but every existing movement he had ever done
the persistent feeling of who he was
as she carefully wrote himself in her aging heart and mind
it was enough
to make her feel him, once again.
For one last breath,
"please let me write you for one last breath."
YOU ARE READING
Dear, Stranger
Romance"An old woman losing her will and time to write, but suddenly, a young man came by with a miracle in his hands. Will she ever be able to write again, with a passion of her old self? or time will cut her short to her grave?"
