Flash Fiction: Somewhere a man's shoes are wet
By Federica Belli.
To your left,
no defined shape in sight.
Ripples playing with the sun,
Messing with your memories.
The eyelids slowly closing,
You see shadows behind you.
The phone rings.
You pick up.
Silence on the other end.
Silence on your end.
Maybe it’s exactly how it should be.
You fill the silence with words
You can’t find a way to pronounce.
Your mind wanders to a place your body has never seen.
Somewhere where a man’s shoes are wet.
Somewhere where cherry pits sit in an ashtray.
Somewhere where snow is slowly covering his footsteps.
The wave hits the seashore.
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