By The Bipolar Diva on January 28, 2014
As with every haunting memory, they manifest more boldly at night.She was lying on her right side, in the center of the king sized bed, with her tiny, pup snuggled up against her thigh.The pillow was formed to support her neck, and the right side of her face was burrowed down touching the pillow's soft, ironed, case. Her right arm was angled up so her hand could touch her head, and she ran her fingers through her long, blonde, tresses.Memories of old held her captive. They were as real as the over head fan that caused the air to flutter around her. . . .
Read more from Flickering Flames at The Bipolar Diva
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