Prompt photo and words:
“Sometimes, it’s not your secret to tell.” ― Stephenie Meyer, New Moon
The beach would always be empty now. Every month she gathered pieces of driftwood, assembled marker. Not an altar, lest anyone judge. Remembrance of love locked in heart’s shelter, never to die. Let the waves take down the salt-weathered wood, carry her footprints forever-far. No doubt he’d recognize, cherish them.
©Rhen Laird/Cobbled Contemplations, 2020 ~ All rights reserved.
(50 words/online counter)