“Pardon me,” the thick accent replayed over and over again in my head. Despite his best effort, he bumped my shoulder and left a part of him etched into my psyche. More than his smell or his southern drawl. A life story. His, from beginning to end, sped up for me to view in the milliseconds it takes for his shoulder to make contact with mine. Instantly, we are connected. Forever. He is imprinted on me.
Cezanne Rema 1 Minute
Published by Cezanne Rema