The trauma of the past came up often, memories like post-it notes stuck all over thoughts. Often thinking of the future, what could be, should be, won't be. Whirling thoughts shifting like the wind in the mind. A child laughs, suddenly all is still, the post-it notes taken with the wind--it is the present.
I counted post-it as one word:) Have a great weekend everyone!!!
Every Friday write a poem, story or limerick of 55 words, no more, no lessAnd then report to the G-Man!