Feb. 17th, 2007

Morning

Feb. 17th, 2007 07:01 am
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Dawn is cold, inhumanly silent. Just me and cigarette smoke. A bird is singing nearby, first signs of spring. I've forgotten what they sound like, forgotten the feel of wind through dead trees. I haven't seen the haze or sunrise if years. standing at the top of a hill, I want to cry out, just to see if I can still let go.

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