playing money

Collage 17

I made my living on the streets. Leotards, cowboy boots and picks. You need the guitar case playing money more than me.

Each day was a treasure, a tiny jewel box of moments, a golden chain of events. Sea diamonds and conversations. Making smiles. Giving hugs.

When the gate swung open, the smell of lavender flowed through. The path was wide and easy. Left my guitar behind in the alley for you.

Angels play harps, don’t ya know.

Mindlovemisery’s Menagerie Writing Prompt 147 , Collage 17


13 thoughts on “playing money

  1. “I like how you incorporated all the photos. My opinion of the afterlife changes often. I would like to think that we just might get to be happy and not have to play harps if we would rather not.” she says thinking of all those she lost and loved and wished left her guitars instead of skeletons in closets.


the time has come, the walrus said, to talk of many things . . .

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