I awaken, again, by the smooth lakeside. Still air. Pebbly beach. Air neither cool nor warm.
From a fetal curl, to hugging knees and watching the slow lapping water.
Will they come to sit beside me? Those who pass by, will they see you next to me?
You whisper to me. Am I hearing you rightly? How can I know, other than to try what you say: be still, await visitors, offer encouragement. Is it that simple?
The waves lap, and lap. Pebbles crunch as I shift my seat.
That simple.
(Letter #3,773)
You must be logged in to post a comment.