Not waving, but drowning.
Waves consume the better part of the afternoon.
We breathe in and out with the rhythm of the snow.
It falls heavy, leaving footprints on the sill. Clear, cold, wet.
photographs from inside my mind. picture, perfect images.
I am frequently uncomfortable, skin too thick around my bones.
The treading momentum, headed fast towards. What?
Where am I even going anymore? Comfortability. I cannot seem to
trade it in.