Lonely Postcard

{A dear, dear friend of mine gave me a story box as a graduation present. It has old books, miniature candelabras, baby sneakers, and among other things old post cards. My story box is for inspiration. Here is my first inspiration from my story box.}

postcard pillars

58 Pillars.

I’ve counted them hundreds of times.

Arches, arches, arches – plants in a walk-through garden.

I see the stark white sky and the deep darkness of the ribbed ceiling.

To the eye, the pillars shrink off to the deadened left side.

“Palermo – Chiostro Monreale”

I don’t know where it is, but I long to be there.

The plants rustle in the wind – or maybe the stagnant air presses down and one retreats under the pillars for shade.

I have held this card more times than there are pillars.

I glide my finger across the worn back side.

The blank side.

If I had any money, I’d go to “Palermo – Chiostro Monreale”

and send myself this postcard.

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I am a 7-year-old​ stuck in a twenty-something's body. I enjoy long walks on the beach and peanut butter on waffles. If the following combinations of letters mean anything to you: OYAN, LotR, F.R.O.G., AiO, OBPC, DIY Then we can be friends. And if not, we still can be friends!

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