Sharp cold winds pierce my skin.
Could be wrapped in a blanket of the warm, but my skin is exposed to the cold.
Silence ringing through my ears, I'm wondering how silence can make a sound much louder than noise.
Bumps form on my arms.
But maybe I'm not actually cold.
No, I'm not cold.
My soul is just getting lonely once again.
YOU ARE READING
Stories of a 2am writer.
FantasySays it all in the title, maybe a bit of stories, poems, songs and quotes. They may be happy or sad, and everything in between.
