by Emily Mason
In sort of a grey day somewhere between light and dark she stops in the middle of her step to look to see what's been left to her. The trees rustle quietly in a breeze that pulls cold, airy fingers across her hair as she holds it dear within her hands... a promise, a reminder, a memory of days gone by... She feels the wind turning the world its silent hands pulling the sunless ground about her... she feels the grey days running by on silent footsteps, and wonders where they're all going, and wonders if they're all gone. Send feedback to Grrowl! |