Do you remember what you said to me, that day, beneath the towering oak? This was long ago, before we knew what would become of us.

You told me that you were staying by my side. There was steel truth to your words.

And now you glance off as if afraid to see your reflection in my eyes. Yet you keep coming back to the one thing that could disarm you.


Published by

Anna G. Watson

~ write like a painter