Every evening, at sundown, the maiden with a head full of flowing golden locks would saunter around the harbour.
For hours, her forlorn eyes would drink in the view of the azure sky with drifting puffs of orangey crimson clouds, quiet lazy boats tied at anchors dug deep in the rippling waters, busy sailors running to-and-fro filling the place with their noisy indistinct chatter.
Unperturbed by the cruel smirks and the inquisitive glances of the passers-by, she’d wait for the young handsome man, who had sailed away from this port on a ship with a promise that he would return years ago.
photo by Mark Dalton via Unsplash
Written for Three Line Tales, Week 126
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