ghost letters
October 9, 2014 § 4 Comments
I sometimes whisper a remembering I do not tempt with sound least I conjure ghosts I dare not wake. Trespassing thoughts that intrude upon the tender places of memory.
Like letters drafted, but never sent, I write these knowings in a language of silence. Beautiful pieces of a past scattered across the fullness of the present, pregnant with good fortune.
I wonder if our children know we are all storytellers made of love. Whispers on the wind.
scribblechic 
Beautiful prose.
Thank you, Andy.
Beautiful piece 🙂
Thank you!