LyraLyra Gabriel
On a Sunday afternoon
nothing is happening
One stands there rigid in the floating dust, looking around, left, right, upwards
Clouds glued white to the sky. Wings outstretched, floating in the blue.
Thoughts like fine warm sand inert
detached from the sounds of the city, not penetrated by the intoxication of glistening lights
free.
All rights belong to its author. It was published on e-Stories.org by demand of LyraLyra Gabriel.
Published on e-Stories.org on 04/18/2025.
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