past perfect ~ a haibun

April. Mayfair gardens. Spring turns summer. Today would have been the day. A fresh waft of coffee coloured earth wakes me up from my what-ifs wanderings. I’d fallen asleep on page 34. The paperback lay disappointed under our great big oak with its great big shadows stretching toward a darker time. Just as you did that January afternoon when you messaged “Sorry. I don’t.”

seeped in past perfect
fragrance of frangipani
after afterwords

d’Verse – Haibun for the new year hosted by Lillian
MindLoveMisery’s photo prompt