Photo by Nicolas Cool on Unsplash
Even mountains fall.
Avalanches crumble down
The rocks start anew.
About the Creator
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More stories from Hailey Marchand-Nazzaro and writers in Poets and other communities.
The Missing Ingredient
The first time I saw her, she was wearing a velvety, red ribbon in her hair. She carried a small leather backpack everywhere. She searched the forest by turning stones, checking beneath shrubs, listening to the wind as if it might carry an answer.
By Imola Tóthabout 17 hours ago in Fiction
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