It’s a hollow play but they’ll clap anyway.

Caved in, move one rock at a time. A familar place, this one. Too much dust on the windowsill and a light on in the upper room. So empty, the place you once were. The wind blows right through me, my heart an ember that glows like a beacon. Hop around in the snow covering all my memories, leave your delicate footprints behind. Loss gets no easier with repetition. A turning under of what we were, a new reality of echoes.

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~ by Athena on February 4, 2018.

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