It's Still Life

Every Ebb and Sigh

I sit here, on a bench, a memorial seat to someone I don’t know, taking in a breath of salt and secrets drifting from the rising sea. This incoming tide is a melody of brine; my dreams; their ghosts; rushing in on the keel of an old ship, sails like fallen souls into the fading sunlight.

When I was young, I never heard the wind speak or knowingly inhale a tree’s breath. And now I sit here on this memorial bench to a person I never knew, and feel the weight of it all. One’s self can be one’s folly.

Written for Ink In Thirds #100WW One Hundred Word Story (photo prompt). Some artwork is created using Midjourney AI, and is identified as such in the ALT text or captioned. Images are copyright and not to used without permission, which I willingly give when asked, and when not for commercial use. Imagery and poems/prose ©Misky 2006-2024.