Vignettes

Making magic

Leaves fall, trees are tall, and nobody can hear you fall, the only rhyme I could come up with. Itś cold but peaceful, it's pretty but in the same way its not. Beer bottles, pretty leaves, cigarette buds, cute squirrels, big river. You could jump on the stones and I'll walk through the water, okay. Walking on the stones was hard like helping my mom clean. Birds talk to each other. Here we are, The rock was huge and covered in moss, but the moss felt nice. I grabbed some and threw it, Maybe itś magic moss, That would explain why itś so soft and not gross. Why can't we stay here, because we have to get home. We didn't have to go home, we could have stayed there, maybe if we stayed you wouldn't have gotten sick, maybe you would still be able to go on walks, to play catch, to hug me. But you can't. Youŕe gone, no more walks, no more moss rock, no more magic, no more going to the park, no more Uncle Woody, just a hole left by what cancer took.
☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️
This is a vignette I already wrote but I just wanted to share