In each day there are moments
Of quiet When dust glints on the windowpane And pipes creak their soft reminders That I am home That I am here A subtle call that this moment not go Unobserved In each day there are heartbeats Of fresh breath Hanging in warm air, drifting And distant motors hummm With footfall mixed Some soft, some marching The space between trees filled With the echo of voices past In each day there are hiccups Of tired muscles Shifting and settling White Steam whistling Against melamine tile Gentle droplets on polished wooden floor Clouds billowing in tannin surf And I - I spend these slow minutes Carefully, silently Trying to untwine What little is left Of the remaining Tendrils of me
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AuthorEllie has been writing her whole life - journals, poems, short stories, scripts... allowing words to flow has been a constant cathartic process for her. This blog is an outlet for her writing, no more, no less. Archives
September 2022
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