greennarwhal1277

Peekaboo

The face in the mirror became a stranger. His daughter came home and did what they did when she was little—hid in the wardrobe and started to count. He followed the sound, walked through a hallway of yellow notes, and opened the door. Their eyes met across the threshold. And two hands that had never truly let go, finally held on. When memory fades, love still has a language of its own.