A handkerchief moves from a pocket. The soft fabric slides across a tired forehead. Looking up, tired eyes squint at the unrelenting sun. The fabric runs over his nose and mouth before finding its hiding place back within the jacket pocket of his navy suit. Too hot to be this covered. Too hot to be …
What I had with John was a thunderstorm. It was full of lightening and wind and drama and passion.
The Jarlena Journal 