Saturday, January 8, 2011

She


She would never sell her seashells, she keeps the shore on a shelf, in a glass vase meant for blossoms. The ephemeral bloom exchanged for lasting Floridian flowers in the lapping tides of love and loss. The gulf winds turn gently. Shifting sands awaken her dreams, stretching her heart strings beyond the farthest reaches of sight. She steps into the glowing mist of sunrise stealing a final glance at the broken road behind her and whispers goodbye with equal measures of both sorrow and joy.





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