This Morning

This morning was a premature phonecall of awakening and love that has lived a grand life, finally willing to age.

This morning was waking up to habits and the semblance of happiness.

This morning was a walk down the hall of frames and realised ambitions that will no longer be spoken of.

This morning was a scalding cup of serendipity and words misconstrued.

This morning was silence wailing on both sides of a broken French window, glass shards don’t mend like they used to.

This morning was the shuffle of footsteps and the premonition of something cold and new.


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