Memoir

I breathe you in and I catch the scent of crushed, dry rose petals dancing in the wind on a dry, cold autumn morning in your grandmother’s beautiful little garden.

Lord help me if I ever forget that scent.

Advertisements

10 thoughts on “Memoir

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s