Grains of sand stick to my fingers as they brush across the conch forgotten at the bottom of my bag. A slight whiff of the sea atill clings to it as I pull it out and stroke across the pattern worn into its surface. As the train rattles on I am far away, where the wind tousles my hair and I feel pebbles under my feet. Sunday memories on a Monday morning.
Schön, daß Du wieder bloggst und ein schöner, stimmungsvoller Post :-)
ReplyDeleteDanke :)
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