the edge of the universe
Walking into the forest, the silence is loud.
The trees are basking in the sounds. Birdsong.
Serendipity they call it.
But is it?
Is it serendipity when you reminisce of times less demanding?
When you look for reasons to go back, to go back and run, run along the edge of the universe.
The universe is insubstantial. Abstract.
Our time here is ephemeral.
Our childhood is ephemeral.
- bettydorotheamarjorie -
YOU ARE READING
a letter made from ashes
PoetryThis is a collection of my innermost knife cutting thoughts, my deepest insecurities, my heartbreak, things that I have thought about but never dared say out loud. Things that would normally go in a burn book, things that might hit a chord in you, o...
