It fell from my pocket. Such a tiny, silly piece of frayed string from a memory of no significance, but I keep it with me anyways.
The string isn’t important, but the memory it holds.
I was going around the world, eyes focused on my task at hand instead of my surroundings. That is when I met her – a quirky, beautiful 6th grader.
Now I pocketed the string and strolled down the walkway to the church, hand in pocket, clutching the string as I entered a whole new world.
Word Count: 89
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