The smoke drifted form the embers of life. Like dying fingers reaching up for the stars.
YOU ARE READING
Realisation
Generel FiktionUp, up, up. And out, and out, and out. Out until your finger tips touch the stars. Until theres no room left for breath. The shadows and the hurting. Only stars. And it's calm. And calm and calm and calm. It's calm and you breathe and you breathe. T...
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The smoke drifted form the embers of life. Like dying fingers reaching up for the stars.
