Campbell Ferguson
Stories (2)
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Her Hands
I grasp her hands. They feel dry and hot, yet somehow comforting. I can feel the years of experience flooding back to me. I stare into her eyes. Her eyes are forever shifting. The dryness of the desert passes through them until it is met by the waves fighting over the coast. I can hear the clitter clatter of urban life, drums sound in the distant, and bustling humans move to and from, and I’ll never know their destination. I can smell the fresh fish combined with salty sea air, dangling next to my nose. I look up to feel the hot sun beating down on me. I look down to watch a small stream of water slowly bringing life to spiritless land. I gaze into her face. I see all the things I expect to see and more. I see warmth, compassion and freedom. But I also see shame, greed and loneliness. I know where I am. It is the place where I am happy. She has waited for me.
By Campbell Ferguson5 years ago in Poets
