Friday, May 14, 2010

The Musician: Four Lines of Prose

Long hair, too thin frame, uneven smile and more than a few years older. Long stretches of time at the abandoned house in the untamed country. A small pond, peeling paint, weeds and wild flowers taller than I, the broken down car, smell of old wood, a dampness in the air and the sound of him strumming the guitar and singing. My first boyfriend. My first kiss. My first love.

*** Daily Writing Practice ***

2 comments:

  1. Very nice. This has inspired me to write something. Thank you.

    ReplyDelete