Silvery ribbons of moonlight weave through the lake. It is
peaceful here, with the reeds bobbing gently in the breeze. I wonder whether it
was as beautiful that night, I hope it was. Somewhere out there she is
sleeping, well, most of her.
The divers found her leg the other night, drifted up against
this old boat. The shock of reality hit me like a wave; I knew for sure then
that she wasn’t coming back. Until then I had been hopeful, optimistic, I
always am, otherwise what’s the point? But now, now I’m just waiting. Waiting
for the rest of her to come home. Home is where the heart is, they say, hers
isn’t.
Just a short one, maybe I'll come back to it. Any criticism would be great!
Image from: http://creativewriting.ie/writing-exercises/
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