by Sparks In Shadow
The fountains splashed without the proverbial drop, their beauty the draw – verdigris, colored stones, water dancing in the daylight.
She moved closer. He watched her sundress ruffle in the breeze, moist tendrils fluttering at her neck as if to emphasize her tenderest part. He felt each second approach and die. She turned, smiling, then back. It stabbed him. He stepped away, disappearing amid tourists with guide, cameras, t-shirts, jeans. He knew why. She never did.
She was self-sufficient, dependable, strong. Left, but not fragile, knowing her way home alone with or without tears, praying as the water rushed.
The prompt was the beautiful photo from Al.