As I sit,
Thoughts drift through the air,
Like dust dancing in a sunbeam.
I reach out to grab one,
But nothing comes.
Like a speck of dust,
A thought must come to you.
This piece has been published in Teen Ink’s monthly print magazine.
Thought
As I sit,
Thoughts drift through the air,
Like dust dancing in a sunbeam.
I reach out to grab one,
But nothing comes.
Like a speck of dust,
A thought must come to you.
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