Warm waters ripple underneath my feet,
Mist softly caresses my surroundings like a fuzzy blanket,
Nothing but a warm wrap on a deathbed.
I'm flying.
The sea beneath my feet freezes as I descend upon it.
A catwalk to my judging headsman.
I refuse to walk.
I fly.
Without destination.
Without meaning.
Until you touched my hand and I turned around.