A hundred days made me older. Not by much, but it was enough to discover another fragment of reality. I never grasped it's touch—the chilly yet blistering sensation of the world.
It was nothing but an illusion. Apparitions of a lost traveler. A wanderer who sought a reality marble where worlds collide. Will the roads of sand take me to where the wind blows? It spoke to me, several times. The whispers, the gentle breeze that brushed against my skin, those were words in silence.
Can you feel the wind's touch? Can you hear it's voice?
It promised to take me somewhere, someday, although not once mentioned where.
Or even how.
Nor why.
But I had faith in the wind. That voice.
Wherever it may be.
I've never stopped looking.
YOU ARE READING
Grave Roses
General FictionI'll come back with roses to lay on your grave. Perhaps, someday, the voices will leave.
