how the wounded need the spring

on existential days when a breeze
aromatic and child-like
brushes against the face of sadness
evaporating tears into white streaks
on pink cheeks as if to say
“the graffiti of your existence
is temporary and this sorrow
will never be yours” as the sun
rises and the days fall from
white to orange, all-encompassing

photo from Joven y Alocada

Author: Erica V.

Always seriously joking and rambunctiously soft-spoken.

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