• n0mad

Smoke Signal

Sometimes you walk past that special person when you’re too busy looking for them.

Josh’s hand swept his unruly hair back across his forehead, he pulled the collar of his leather jacket tighter against the river wind, as the Brooklyn ferry plied its lonely trade across the East River. He gazed at the Manhattan skyline, all blue glass and steel promising so much. He didn’t see her approach the rail, didn’t see the wind buffeting her hair into curly ribbons. They were silent, ...still there together at the rail for a long moment, feeling the wind of change sweeping their faces. He turned first, sensing her. Her deep brown eyes looked up innocently from her wheelchair, her smile when it broke, was like a ray of pure sunlight through grey clouds and the world skipped a beat.

Josh remembers that day today, as he stands at the rail again on the Brooklyn ferry and unscrews her little jar. He watches as the grey powder lazily drifts into the wind like a smoke signal.


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