(Yes, yes, an original title I know)
This is my entry for the Writing Competition 2.0!
Soft hints of newly budding flowers floated in the breeze, it's sweet scent encircling her like a hug. Yet, not like a hug. She stared down the worn down path, leaning on a rickety trellis for support, it's splintery surface digging into her skin in a grotesquely pleasurable way.
The temperature was slowly becoming warm, but the frosty tang of the winter still hung in the air, a bit dry, but the rain would come. It always did. So what was she waiting for?
The prints were long gone, but the pattern seemed to have been branded into her mind: entwined, separated, alone, wayward. The buds of cherry blossoms were ready to burst forth, their tender pink petals poised to fall and bloom and speckle the air with nature's confetti.
Deep breaths, closed eyes, walk with careful wonder. Remember, while trying to forget, yet pretend he's still here with his arms around you? To think the path was going to make her feel better, not a chance. Her eyes would open and see the bright colors- dizzying and whimsical, but like an illusion. Only to stop and swirl and spin, to color this world with perfect confusion in a beautiful mess.
Only pain and regret, to give your heart and find the past to crush the soul. Stop and find your world shattered. She fell to the ground, thinking about what is left, what she lost. Sharp sounds of birds shattered the silence, and her resolve of pain was broken.
Her eyes watched the sky, the sun overhead blazing and gently bringing warmth back to the grove. The path had seemed to have been cold from so many months of neglect. It was a special place once, full of life and color. But the icy distance and time brought it to ruin.
(Not done yet)