And as she turned out the light, she had no choice but to fill the dawn with the dull ache of reality. Now i crawl from my lair, put out my feelers, long for the past and grasp for the future. Though like mist at dawn it creeps through my fingers, so i sit with my head buried in work.
Lost and lazy, stargazer.
Sits on a shelf
green with envy
of the bygone self.
1 comment:
They look lovelyy! I like what you wrote too!
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