the wind pushes. pulls. laughs. time belongs to all of us. it’s ours to break. yet, it remains, the feral beast we are unable to tame.
forget the sun. it’s winter now. there’s no use for warmth. remember the clouds. because they remember us. as the cold slips in and our crutches rot.
the broken stairs. the missing steps. coughing. aching. under our skin. taut rubber bands. snapping.
it’s not weakness that cripples. it’s arrogrance. as the hills work their wicked gravity.
the path pretends to find us. assuming that we were lost. the storm pauses. waiting for the lightning.
but usually, it jsust stays dark.