The horizon descends delicately as the welkin is painted in reddish orange, trailed by sparrows chorusing tunes in synchronized harmony. Limbs outstretched and neutral in expression, submerged in fine linens. Blanketed in the icy cold air that frequents the space,and disregarding violent trembles, a body's plea to sustain warmth. These four walls witnessed layers of emotions boldly manifested without a modicum of restraint. If they had eyes they would weep,if they had mouths they'd curve it upwards forming a sympathethic simper and if they had heads they'd shook it discouragingly. The reticence of the room quelled by the tick of a clock in sync with her vital palpitations,drumming within the cerebrum,stressing that time is almost out. Our time is running out.
No comments:
Post a Comment