Prose
Undying Resilience
Morning came like a ghost, pale, watchful, too quiet. She stepped into its hush, past ruins still whispering her name. Memory clung, soft as cobwebs, bitter as wine. Yet beneath the sorrow, something stirred. A breath. A beginning. The past would haunt, true, but no longer hold. She walked on, unclaimed.
By M.R. Cameo9 months ago in Poets
