The crinkled edges of the photograph, almost crumbled in her shaky hand, it was housed amongst others faded, in a pale blue wooden box, with a rusted silver latch.
Her right index finger traced endlessly around the face that smiled back at her. As the sun stretched its way through the transparent curtain she looked to see her laughing on the lawn.

Opening the jewellery box, she picked up the hair clip, now lost of sparkly beads that once shone inside her hair. In the back of the open wardrobe, a scarf fallen, forgotten, touched by her skin, she stroked its softness before holding it to her face breathing in the scent of her.

Apart from the photographs and a few of her possessions, she was a sillohuetted face, but this face belonged to her mother and this is all what remained.


14 thoughts on “Forgotten

  1. You have captured the emotions perfectly, Jen. The silhouette of her, the scent bringing back memories. Missing her, nostalgia and longing flood back. . . I like this essay and the feelings shown. Wonderful writing. xo

      • You must keep following where your lovely mind takes you, possibly you have a muse who is tempting you to try this as a way of escaping and freeing your mind to be happy. It is only so long any of us can stand reality, don’t you think? ♡ Hugs sent your way, Jen. It certainly amuses us! 🙂

      • You are so sweet, I shall follow my mind and perhaps you are right, my muse is leading me another direction. Yes reality can sometimes become just a tad too exhausting I agree! Hugs back to you and I’ll try to keep you amused ❤️ xx

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