 | I long to hold you close. Burying my nose in your essence. Trailing my fingers across your features hidden in the shadows of the evening. Our lifelong affair is destined to go nowhere. You have made me suffer through teary, reddened eyes while I saturate my hanky. Our contact is finally allowed when the season turns cold, and what is left of you, still waits for me. Then, and only then, do the tears stop. The day you no longer irritate my senses. The day I am freed from the clutches of my allergies. The day of the dead. |
| Ann Edall-Robson Author, Photographer, Lover of Life "Capturing moments others may never get to experience." | Carrot Ranch Flash Fiction Prompt - October 31, 2019 - Write a story about the Day of the Dead. |
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