Wistful Fantasy

Come, my love, let’s pack our stuff and drive down to the countryside. I am done with this cold maddening crowd, and so are you.

Let’s go, far away, you, me and the dog, and live in a small rustic place, where the air smells fresh and earthy. Where our paths are paved with crisp colourful leaves. Where the silence of misty morns synchronizes with the deafening chatter of birds and creates a perfect harmony.

We can go to a farm and pick pumpkins and then curl up by the fire beneath the starlit sky and whisper sweet nothings.

We can drink cheap wine straight from a bottle with huge servings of warm toasty nuts and seeds.

Listen, I sure have taken a little time to think things over. But now, I am here for good, so trust me, take my hand, leave all this behind and run to the country where we can lay all day on the dewy grass. Blissfully laze around without any worries.

Doesn’t that sound sweet? Oh! Please don’t smile and look at me that way for it is not a wistful fantasy. It could be our reality if only you allow it to be.

Written for Flash Fiction for the Purposeful Practitioner

Photo: MorgueFile May 2018 1413924415vgvbk


8 thoughts on “Wistful Fantasy

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