Monday, 5 March 2012

The Birds

In a trance, you look out of the window.
You smell the air through the glass, wishing you could fly and embrace the gentle breeze of the wind.
Your fingers, anchored on the keyboard,
Your face, glum.
Your posture, still.
The time, 11:45.
You sigh, turn around and joke about this lapse in consciousness.

Tomorrow, at some point, you will reach this point again.

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