When they walk down the street, the people talk.
But when she walks down the street, the trees whisper.
When they walk down the street the people clamor.
But when she walks the petals fall to crown her in a diadem of roses, blood, and thorns.
They walk down the street and the people notice.
She walks down the street and the world breathes.
When they walk down the street, the people chatter in their concrete prisons.
But when she walks down the streets, the branches sigh and part before her, welcoming her back to the place whence she came, and as she comes, they close around her, keeping her safe.
When they walk down the street she doesn't notice.
The sun shines on them, but the rain blesses only her skin, dripping down her lips and off her chin.
Darkening her hair and staining her lashes with its sweet savor.
When they walk down the street, the people flash their harsh lights.
But when she walks down the street, the stars light her path.
When she walks down the street the moon comes out of hiding, and once she's gone the world mourns her loss.
When they walk down the street, I take no notice.
I want no part of their world.
How could I? When my whole world is standing right in front of me.
YOU ARE READING
Not me. (2023)
Short Storyso, I've been struggling for a long time now, and I never told anyone about it. I've never opened up. but I met someone who understands how I feel, and I'm beginning to feel again. I don't know how to do it, but I finally feel I can fight. I've been...
