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Deep little ache

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It’s that stretched-out summer stench
Of stillness and exhausted heat
That settles over everything
Like a heavy-woven sheet.

It’s the cold stillness of winter,
The freezing solidity of Iceland
The solidarity and singularity,
Of standing alone in a frozen wasteland.

It’s the last leaf that clings to the tree,
Waiting and waiting to follow suit
With the other leaves and the season,
And Fall,
swirling beautifully to its doom.

It’s that deep little ache,
Burrowed somewhere in your chest.
Some people call it misery,
I call it loneliness.





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.Izzy. said...
Sept. 3, 2011 at 6:40 pm
I loved how you were able to relate loneliness with the seasons. This was really good, keep writing!
 
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