I am standing here alone,
my back exposed to the crippling cold as the air blows, the snow comes to whips knots through my hair. You aren't here, nowhere near to this place, North Face, my mind races. My feet touch the ground, all I hear is the deafening sounds, and my heart pounds, I feel now I know my way through the dark. No more fear, it is clear that in this space, interlace, and my body braces. I am alone, I am alone, I am alone I am home I am alone, I am alone, I am alone I am home I am alone, I am alone, I am alone I am home I am alone I am home.
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All this sweetness -
just the result of the beating of a billion tiny wings, hovering over petals, brushing against pollen, dancing into maps. Things that are easier than packing:
There are types of sadness
that are not resolved with a cup of tea. Or flowers. You are travelling in the dark
to places where a map would be no use to you anyhow. And oh, how your body grows weary of walking uphill with arms stretched out in every direction. You are going no where. The vultures are circling. |
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November 2019
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