Canyon

My wandering feet thread the hems of these depressive slopes. It is strange territory for me. For one who lapses into pleasant thoughts at will, and conjures burning schemes and visions. One given to words that drown out the most threatening imaginations. One born with rose-coloured eyes.

Where did my joy go?

My wandering mind lingers, too long, on too much at a time. Not many things matter. I am used to the silence now. I…

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