She silently laughed at anyone who cared enough to follow her.
Rich, she was not…
Scared, never ….
Beautiful, no more …..
Or was she? To the one who partnered her footsteps on the sand, in the twilight. This was the well-kept secret of her perennial years. A romance that imprinted her soul, and she did not want anybody to know about. She needed the companionship, and an omnipresent shadow around her loneliness.
There were not many in the millennial world who understood her thoughts. The writer was well past her prime. The amount on the royalty checks was ever dwindling, and her love of words was ever-growing. Who would listen, appreciate and contribute to her creativity? Ephemeral creations which would probably be destroyed with her device, just like her footprints ….
Her husband’s shadow was with her forever, invisible to the world, for spirits do not leave footprints ….
Inspired by A Frank Angle at