DescriptiveParagraph · FlashFiction · Poetry

Quiet Time

She went to the field with her journal and pen. She sat on the grass and started writing…

The shadows may hunt me,
but they can never stop me.
Dried wounds, they may reopen.
But they will eventually heal.

She breathed deeply and felt the wind touch every inch of her. It’s the kind of writing moment she always looked for, being in a quiet place and the wind blows.