Sunset streaks the sky over Dublin Bay. I wonder where you are mo rúnsearc. My mind is becalmed as the flat sea. Without direction, a purpose lost, drifting, wounded.

Dreams are composed of wispy notions. Once a heady elixir, they slip through the fingers, evaporating along fractures.

You didn’t want to know, but she’s a baby girl. Her name is Megan, after mom. Will she have your features? Can I bear it?

Here I wait though for naught. The miserable truth stares back with its snake black eyes. Mo rúnsearc has left me behind. Paths deviate. The invariant is change.

Photo is copyright by Giuseppe Milo.

Daily Post. Writing prompt.

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