Should you discover some day that I am sitting in the bleachers, cheering for the wrong side, make sure my scarf is secure and bring me a hot chocolate. I expect my lapse to be momentary.
I have transported without luggage. My thoughts are distant and experiencing life outside of these shoes. With only a blank stare and no passport, expectations remain low.
The wind is laced
with a chill that snags my attention and smears the ink, making it appear as if
I written with mittened hands. It is,
however, winter itself causing my pen to stutter.
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