I wake up and my eyelashes are tiny icicles,
my cheeks rosy and my lips a bluish hue, my fingers slightly numb, but somehow itchy too. I gaze out the window, etched with tiny webs of frost, white on white is what I see, softly blanketing the branches, of the spiny old tree. It covers the ground I used to walk on, and the sidewalk leading out, how will I escape now, familiar paths are hidden, my head is filled with doubt, my heavy woolen blanket, roots me in my spot. Where has the sun gone, gray fog now in its place, the flowers disappeared, and the color is erased. This novel world is like a void, equal parts dark and light, filled with heavy silence, foreshadowing new life.
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waves crash persistently
my shore carving rivulets as murky water forges and trickles its way through my stretch of sand breeze rustles timidly blades of my grass tickling fair hairs on pale skin miniature flowers purple and yellow strain thin stems towards my white and periwinkle sky there’s no land only shades of misty blue melancholy to my left bird chirps his song in my tree cooing loneliness to match mine then soaring off to where clouds meet sea to where nothing meets everything he’s made it he’s free |
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