With her it was all too easy, life slowed to a crawl. She held an ability to shift time. One moment it was summer, the next, autumn. I was seventeen again, holding her hand and watching leaves fly.

Even then, I knew, there is always a winter. How I had waited for her return. I had loved her. Sometimes, she had loved me back.

The rhythm of time ticks on with an undeniable force. Once more, autumn turns to winter. As thread slips through a needle, I stitched the tapestry of my life. There were others, some more beautiful. Through it all, she remained a distant memory: my rose, her spent petals softly falling to the floor.

~excerpt from a scene, draft

Published by

Anna G. Watson

~ write like a painter

2 thoughts on “”

  1. Is this a man talking? If it’s a woman, it works, but if it’s a man, maybe not so much. Most men are not that open about their true feelings, but even if he were one of the few sensitive ones, it’s unlikely that he would compare his life to a tapestry or make references to a needle and thread. It’s very beautiful, but I did wonder if this is a man or woman speaking.

    1. It is a male ‘voice.’ You are correct in your thinking. It is best to refit this piece to a female character, though. I need to revisit this piece as I’m not certain. Sometimes, I pull random ‘musings’ from a notebook. As for the wondering of the male POV- it’s possible. Agates among stones.

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