It was her annual trip...
...when in an elevator she had traveled in over half her life, she pointed to the worn patch of wood and said, "This is still here."
After dinner the missing of mothers drifted into words.
I looked up.
What was still here was how certain nights still felt like Florence if she were a New York evening.
So we wandered and looked at what was still here.
MBIP - Back For This Week…Gone For Next Week…Then Back For The Rest Of 2022! - *So here’s what happened on MBIP after last week’s posts. Posted **Monday** and **Tuesday’s** posts and while woking on Tuesday night I got an horrific ...
1 day ago