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words fly
painting the afternoon sky
with dozens upon dozens
of dark nimbostratus clouds
and you're terrified of getting wet
but still, those damned words
keep flying

amorentiah

-----

the rain is cold.

the rain is cold, but not as cold as the ice.

the ice he lost two years ago.

the future he lost two years ago.

this hill he is forced to walk is a treacherous one, but one that must be taken.

he couldn't let all of his hard work go to waste. his muscle memory was as good as ever, and today he was finally cleared to return.

that olympic gold would be his.

and the monster generation would be nothing more than stepping stones to him.

every last one of them.

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