That one night I
silently counted
the paving
stones as I
kept walking
the trottoir.
Hands in
pockets, breath
leaving
my mouth in
small clouds.
It's cold, but
I have nowhere
to go, because
the lighthouse
is lonely
and the view is
so tiring.
Oct 17, 2013
Oct 17, 2013 at 9:22 AM UTC
That one night I
silently counted
the paving
stones as I
kept walking
the trottoir.
Hands in
pockets, breath
leaving
my mouth in
small clouds.
It's cold, but
I have nowhere
to go, because
the lighthouse
is lonely
and the view is
so tiring.
