Missing thing

I miss your wooden pen, your scented notebook. The writing on the blackboard, the lessons you gave me. The ducks in the lake, the company to the hospital, being so naive. The way you called me, your voice, two boiled eggs in the evening. The light in your eyes, the bat in the room. I miss guarding, to see you cook, to dance. We were free, it was us, just for a moment, thanks. But the rules of the World are cruel: you have to adapt.

emi.me321I am Anna, I live in Italy. Photography and writing are my hobbies.