His hair was too long, and it was stuck to his forehead, his cheeks, his neck, everywhere. You wanted to gently stroke it aside, but as you reached out your hand he flinched away from your touch as if you were made of fire.
Mirth, anger, hurt, built up in your chest but you remained quiet, staring at his retreating figure in the waning moonlight, slinking alongside the shadows of the night. You watched him go as the clouds rolled over infront of the moon, his lean body just another dark shadow, the ghost of lips on yours a mere memory.
I like all the images you've used in your flash fiction piece! Also, thanks for stopping by Sometimes I'm a Story!
ReplyDeletethank you, and you're welcome! <3
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