One Sunny Afternoon

I was holding a pair of crinkled hands – they were white. These exquisite bougainvilleas were pale in comparison to the beauty that these hands witnessed for almost a decade.

“Why are you holding me all the time?”, she asked.

“‘Cause I don’t want to let you fall, Gran.” I answered.

💌,

SAM

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Author: samofguzman

A writer neither writes every day nor every other day; a writer writes on a day beyond his control.

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