She put the pen down. First love, first brushing of lips. Longing between night and dawn, waiting to meet.
Betrayal. Seeing him holding hands with another. Hot tears of shame; cold tears of loss.
She wrote out her heart on her sleeve. Her mother wasn’t very happy. Ink was a tough stain to wash out.
A piece of almost fifty fiction (55 words) for Sunday Photo Fiction, July 17, 2016. Hope you can get the laptop! Writing fingers crossed.
(Reminds me of my calligraphy fountain pens, hence the font.)