Photo by Catarina Carvalho on Unsplash

When the Willow Breaks

She was leaning up against an oak tree, sucking on a long, slender cigarette. She flicked the ashes on the damp ground with her long, red thumbnail as she stared off into space. The memories of him trickled through her brain like a haunted stream, as tears floated down her cheeks. The breeze of the warm spring air dried the moisture on her face into dusty silhouettes, as she tried to regain her breath.



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Kristina H

Writer of relationships / early childhood and mental health . Poetry and fiction dabbler