if you just could be my feathers I would fly above the future

I'm closing my eyes. Inhaling. Exhaling. Hiding myself under the black rug. Squeezing the textile between my fingers. Pulling my legs up against my chest in a fetal position. Realizing this is a part of my childhood. When the dandelion stands in the middle of the desert. Trying to inhale the water through the roots. But the leaves are withering in the glowing sun and the petals are falling off, bit by bit. One by one. Heart by heart. 'Cause the eyes are closed, busy hiding.


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