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Feathers and Knives

Superstitions Of The Sky

A feather in flight weightless against the wind floats until it lands on your windowsill. I stare out in the distance and long to be taken away by the moonlights, and the breezes, and your cold hands. A knife on the counter weightless against my wrist.
Your sullen eyes looked into mine and said those last few words. It's a shame I woke up because dreaming was never quite the same without you.