A Story In 100 Words

Scattered pixels form your face, I forgot to delete a few, I still miss you sometimes. I miss you more and hear your voice, recorded, a missed call. If only, who knows when the last time will be the last time prior to, I should have kept my phone in my pocket. You always ask asked me to be more available, I always think thought we’d have another moment. To me you are were forever, forever is never forever. Not even these pixels, replicating your face, fading, scattered, fleeting. Afraid I’ll lose you again, broken charger, my phone is dying.

From Guest Contributor Mekah Baker

Mekah is a student of literature and the applied sciences at Pikes Peak State College.

Please support the site by purchasing one of my books on Amazon. Check out Quitting The Grave, a murder mystery set on the Oregon Trail. Plus, don't forget my other books: They Both Loved Vonnegut, Ahab's Adventures in Wonderland, and Picasso Painted Dinosaurs.