Post by maeru on Nov 3, 2009 17:42:10 GMT -5
THE STORM IS COMING BUT I DON’T MIND.
PEOPLE ARE DYING, I CLOSE MY BLINDS.
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PEOPLE ARE DYING, I CLOSE MY BLINDS.
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It was cold and dark this evening in Boston. The auburn leaves in the trees rustled lightly with the passing wind, wrestling the dying leaves from their sturdy perches and bringing them gently to the ground below. The leaves were crisp and crunched underfoot. Their sharp sound penetrated the soft whisper of the breeze as a few people wandered past the harbor, each bundled in their warm clothing with thick jackets and scarves, some even wore snow boots as if anticipating that it might get cold enough for the little white crystals.
Maegan pulled her coat tighter around her body as she stood by the docks, above them and watched the cold dark waters swirl serenely, as if beckoning the people of the city to come play. But currents crisscrossed just below the delicate surface, and this is what the woman was watching, with a peaceful look on her face. She thought about how warm her loft would be, she thought about how happy Seymour would be to see her, and her smile grew at the thought of her precious black cat. How could she ever be sad when he was always at home waiting to welcome her back? She exhaled and the foggy vapors swirled in the still air, dancing until they vanished into the atmosphere, eaten up and broken down into oxygen again.
The woman’s hazel eyes sparkled in the moonlight, who would’ve thought that she would’ve ever come back here? As one of Master upbringings she surely had the freedom to come and go as she pleased, Boston wouldn’t miss her. But then there was her mother and father, her mom was getting up in age, and it wasn’t like her father would do anything to help her, and with her grandmother long since dead, there was even less for her loving mother to do to keep herself from falling into the same pattern. Dementia was a horrible disease. Maegan hoped that it had skipped her generation. She brought her cold hands to her face and blew gently into her palms, rubbing them together in hopes of warming them. “What a chilly night.” she commented to herself, stuffing her fingers and palms back into her coat’s pockets.
It was a lovely autumn night.
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[/color][/b] Open
COUNT, 376
LYRICS, Keep Breathing, Ingrid Michaelson.
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ALL THAT I KNOW IS I’M BREATHING, NOW.