Two years prior to current.
Her soft blonde hair reflected in the light.
Her hands, holding a cigarette delicately, trembling.
Telling me a story without needing the words.
Her voice ridden with the familiar hesitation that swept her whole body over like a phantom.
And yet I knew exactly what she meant.
Her history was one we shared despite being unknown to each other.
Such a small world indeed.
YOU ARE READING
histoires courtes.
Poetrya set of short stories based on past experiences or anything at all.
