Paper boats in a stream drowned all miseries.
She looked at him and wondered, why me?
He followed her scent but found a cow.
Story credit @approximateengineer.
Every story combines something familiar with something strange.
In summers, she served lemonade – breakfast, lunch, dinner.
Despair, anguish, anger – beginnings of all great stories.
A cup of poetry for the incurable romantic.
I fear the unknown.
Also me, “Hello, blind-date.”
Her lips quivered as she whispered, “It’s time..”
Nature, a balm for eyes bruised by concrete.