The leaves crunch under my feet, whispering greetings like old friends.
"Welcome back," they say, "We missed you."
The boards in the old porch, mildewed with age, creak in harmony with my soft footsteps.
"Welcome home," they say, "We missed you."
The lackluster brass handle on the old mahogany door was tried, but apparently it didn't miss me.
A sigh and a reminisce later, I tiptoe to reach the top of the to rusted metal framed window next to it.
My finger traces a small horizontal line through the dust then drags it down, then mirrors the first one.
I continue to write in the dust. "I missed you."
YOU ARE READING
Inspired!
PoetryA collection of writing excercises I tried to get over my writers' block. Includes but aren't limited to: writing prompts from online, really bad freeverse poetry, rough scene drafts, shorts or poems based on songs or impulses, and basically lots o...
