Writing Resources from Fifteen Minutes of Fiction
First step out
The chill against my nostrils,
The windy catapult of snow
And again my foot leads me on,
Into the overburdened shell,
Downtrodden in the pierced and dry day.
But a moment!
Too much noise, too much, much,
The crinkle of the air and the paper in my hand, just too much
Aching, my hands move on their own through the door and
Retreat! What a dusty harbor!
My own solitude,
A resolute silence
And to me alone.
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