standstill.

by ty

i once claimed with confidence that there can be no other when this is where my roots tether firm, when it feels close to natural to pave the way forth wherever you pause, to drop a few seeds in the soil with every step you take barefooted against the damp filed.

it was just a matter of days back when i told you i was living day to day without thinking further than a full cycle around the clock and how twenty four hours was never enough – and i’ve progressed, learning to find solace in mere seconds, minutes, counting the hours left with every indent pressed endearingly against pale skin.

i didn’t like being up against the surface, it wasn’t all that convenient having to hold up with a one-sided battle against the winds when they threatened to send our tents back down to a lump of nothingness on the peak of the mountain. the thin air got in the way, i began to asphyxiate, and i once again slowed down – because i thought i hit rock bottom, i thought i reached the end of the corridor. but the walls fall, because alas, it’s just the beginning.

everything changes all too quickly, along with the wind directions and the weather we’re getting.

it begins to rain, but our dreams go up in flames.

and at dawn, it all boils down to how we define faith – and how much we’re willing to lose, to lose even more.

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