A face in the crowd, is a face of a person that we all are.
We smile sometimes, and we frown the other times.
Dreams and aspirations, we hold in one hand;
and in the other we hold the baton of reality.
A face in the crowd is sometimes young and naive,
sometimes bold and confident,
and sometimes marred by the rough edges of life.
No matter what they are; or who wears them.
Each has a story to tell, if looked deeper.
And still, each is lost far away in the ripples of time.
It’s a face in the crowd that we never meet again,
and still, we own them as we were the same.
This is a story for Friday Fictioneers, which is hosted by Rochelle. Every week you are challenged to write a 100 word story based on a photo.
Thanks toMarie Gail Stratford for this week’s photo and also to Rochelle for hosting the challenge.
Thanks to all the readers for their time, too.
PHOTO PROMPT © Marie Gail Stratford
Why do roses have thorns?
Why do they smell sweet?
My garden blooms with roses, but why do I see you. Their fragrance embraces me like it’s you.
Our relationship had just started to bloom. Our bond was only getting sweeter. Each day as I sank in your arms, thinking we were strong; you knew, life’s petal was being plucked slowly from you.
Clutching garden scissors I ask, “What shall I do of these… you had planted them so well?”
I prune the dead ones. For the plants, I let the water seep into their soil that holds them.