Time for another entry in Friday Fictioneers challenge, courtesy of Rochelle Wisoff-Fields. If you want to give it a try, check the info on her blog. 100 words more or less, inspired by a photo, here we go….
Copyright – Sandra Crook
“Your hands are cold.” you said on a misty morning, blowing a warm breath over my frozen fingers.
“Come back to me.” I whispered to you, as your kiss melted the ice around my heart.
Summer came and you left me with only a promise of years filled with solitude. We traded our love for war trenches, flowers on your dress replaced by blossoming wounds.
Years later, I met you on our bridge, recognizing every invisible scar.
“Your hands are cold.” I whispered, as my tears fell upon the hands of a stranger.