Jan 2021
Arriving with an air
Of delicate stillness,
The cold slips between our fingers,
Much like the marsh mud I threw
As a young child,
Or as the years of my life
That disappeared before me.
Of delicate stillness,
The cold slips between our fingers,
Much like the marsh mud I threw
As a young child,
Or as the years of my life
That disappeared before me.
Yeah idk where I was going with this it’s 10 degrees outside rn (yes, degrees F, it’s below zero in Celsius)
