I can feel it, the elusive word, dancing on the tip of my tongue. It’s a frustrating game, this mental hide and seek. Just as I think I’ve caught it, it slips away again into the fog of forgetfulness. It’s like trying to catch a butterfly in a net made of mist. But I won’t give up, no, not until I’ve wrestled it into submission. And when I finally do, when I finally pin down that slippery syllable, oh, the relief is as sweet as summer rain.
Inspired by Sunday’s Six Sentence Story
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