Atmosphere


It was not the bleak clouds that condensed over me, nor was it the thick mist that seeped into every crevice of my body that made me feel alive. It was the dew drops that kissed the earth’s hair, it was the air’s temperature that danced in equilibrium with my fingertips and the silence that wished me well into the evening. She said goodbye so softly into my ears it sent throat tightening shivers down my spine and coursed through my arms, lower back, and the tips of my toes. It was the sheer appreciation to be alive in this moment without a voice, or a sound; to be so encapsulated by the beauty of nature around me, when the trees reached up to the heavens and opened the puddle covered sky towards me with open arms, the way she kissed my forehead with such power only a mourning mother could understand. She was bitter. She was desperate. But she bared herself naked to the most crucible state of her being to show me what it really means to be alive. It tore my heart into shreds of melancholy and remorse to feel the way she feels after eons of history repeating itself. Those who disrespect the only sign of god being real by cutting her hair, burning her skin, cutting her lungs open and violating every inch of her being. The war will not cease until she is broken and can no longer be drained of her resources because she is a pawn in the game she created. She is in pain. She is crying to me and screams for help as she opens the sky reaching to god so that maybe, she can find herself in someone else’s mirror.

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