Sunday, November 7, 2010

Winter Wind

The air is thin and frigid, the consistency of sharp barbs. I feel like this place, this time, is slowly turning to mist and all I can do is give my already tenuous soul to it. With nothing to hold to I find my thoughts straying to other moments like this; ones in which I was cushioned from the frailty of the world by my reluctance to become tangled within it. There is a feeling within me, a pressure, a void, a vacuum. It's other-worldly, giving me continuous pause. I question my journey, my path, my past, my present, my unforgotten love and my desire to be whole again. Time stills, and hastens in the same instance.

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