Alina Happy Hansen
There she stood. Her figure silhouetted against the moon, distant and lonesome, looking out towards the sea. The spinning light reached out across the void, touching waves, touching clouds until disappearing back behind the trees. Lighthouse, candle, and a memory of a death. He calls out to her from the door, hoping she’ll come back inside, inside his arms, inside the house, and forget it all. Forget the blood, the pain and the small grave.
If you are reading this Thank You for taking time out of your day to read my writing!
I hope you will return in the future!