It spins.
The world changes. It takes a new shapes with each spins, bending and twisting, and I am lost in it. Up is down. Down is up. The sky becomes the sea and I float in it, salt on my tongue, water fills my lungs.
It is suffocating.
I hold on to the red thread around my neck, blazing like flames, scorching hot in my hands. I could barely kept my head above the water, seeing the bluish horizon and soft clouds, clinging to them for—
what?
For what?
My palm is burning.
Red growing paler, melting with the ocean. Perhaps they blend, and the world spins again. Down is up. Up is down. Just like that, and I am in cotton candy land —
(and the world keeps on spinning.)
YOU ARE READING
Under the Sun
Puisido not cry when things do not make sense 'cause your hair will turn to gray (and it won't be glistening silver strands like daenerys targaryen's in your tv screen).
