It’s been nearly fifty years, but I can still smell the apple blossom in the trees; I can still hear the birdsong, feel the warm waters of the creek running between our toes. My pained heart still races when I recall the moment she first took my trembling hand and placed it against her firm, warm breast. The softness of her skin, the tenderness in her eyes – she always made everything seem right.
Yet today she is gone, and I’m alone. Our memories though will stay with me until we’re together once more on that moonlit river bank.
These words form my entry into Friday Fictioneers photo prompt challenge.