I was at a Chistmas party once as happy as a song when a mysterious doe eyed girl spoke to me of a sadness in her life.
"My husband left me,"she said. "Weeks ago. I have no one now."
I told her some people drift together, the same people drift apart. It is called the human condition. The ebb and flow of life.
She smiled slightly then disappeared into a woven crowd. I never saw her again, though I have thought of her often over the years. Her beautiful soft eyes. Her voice as sweet as Christmas sugar. I wonder if in time she's drifted to a sandy shore.
Poetry Pantry #412
23 hours ago