Photo by Kelly Sikkema on Unsplash
Aliens, cripteds.
Covid19, it's surreal.
Twenty- twenty-three.
About the Creator
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More stories from Pamela Walsh-Holte and writers in Poets and other communities.
The Missing Ingredient
The first time I saw her, she was wearing a velvety, red ribbon in her hair. She carried a small leather backpack everywhere. She searched the forest by turning stones, checking beneath shrubs, listening to the wind as if it might carry an answer.
By Imola Tóthabout 8 hours ago in Fiction
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