Where are your wings that I used to draw?

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Flash Fiction  |  House: Booksie Classic


The distant pier is covered in ashes and dust. Where are your wings that I used to draw? Where are your songs in the murmuring rebellion of the rivers? Where are we together? Where is our endless race? Let me see the curves in the dark for a moment. Show me a made-up gentle and sensitive world. The emptiness erases the procession of drama where nudity has exposed all your scars. I remember the smile that warmed up the cloudy day. How cold! How bitter! Clothe me with the light from your heart. Why is that stone pulling and pulling so much to the bottom? Where is the flame that spring brings? Where is your faith that pierces right through with all its power? Throw me the flashes of vivacity in the morning. I am your tribe of illusions, unrealizable dreams. Give me the time that runs with the whistling of the winds. I will let you hug and breathe the sky for a while. There, where I have not been, the road begins again.


Submitted: November 04, 2020

© Copyright 2020 Igor Mit. All rights reserved.

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