DISCLAIMER: Much to my chagrin, I don't own any of these characters. Property of SHED Productions.
AUTHOR'S NOTE: I actually wrote this on a wooden bench in Dublin, Ireland. Written as part of the Alphabet Soup Challenge.
ARCHIVING: Only with the permission of the author.
A Wooden Bench
Maybe Barbara was onto something with her diary. Sometimes I wish I'd kept one- a diary, a journal, some bits of paper that I could look back on and remember. Problem was, at the time, I didn't want to remember Larkhall. I only wanted to forget. But perhaps I should have written the good times down -us down- before they faded under the unwavering rays of time. But then I look at you, your hand shielding your eyes from the sun, a gentle smile tugging at your lips and it stokes the fires of my memory better than any words.
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