A second chance, a fleeting game? Or fate’s design, forged by flame? Closed door, don’t turn the key. Convince me—why must this be?
Regret’s a ghost, a cunning art, But longing can’t mend a heart. Love casts no shadow but a glow. Love brings no doubt, its seeds must grow.
About the Creator
The Light Turns
It's Tuesday 7:13 a.m. A cold and clear November morning awaits Ray on his morning commute. Ray rubs his hands together in the front seat of his Subaru. He turns the air temperature up, but keeps the air on low until the air warms up. He looks at the backup camera screen and reverses the Subaru out of his driveway onto Trimble Road.
By John R. Godwina day ago in Fiction
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