The topic for this edition of Four Line Friday Prose is: they're playing our song.
It appears that this coming Tuesday will mark one year in the life of Daily Writing Practice. I shall have to do something at least a little bit special for it.
A gentle breeze plays with your hair in ways my fingers no longer can. The candlelight caresses your glowing cheeks, traces your angelic outline, as I did many years before. The radio begins to play our song and you can't stop yourself from tapping your foot on the hardwood floor, keeping the beat as perfectly as ever.
I would ask you to dance but I know you have already danced with too many of my ghosts these last few years.