Days Of Our Lives
The ground feels strange under my bare feet—
Grainy, not exactly solid beneath my weight
As I sink into it slightly.
I kneel, my knee becoming scratched by the sand,
Sitting there like shards of glass splayed across the floor.
I pick some up, letting it sit in a little heap on the palm of my hand.
It sits there a little bit, the sight peaceful and dull.
I feel a soft breeze caress my skin,
The wind tosses my silky black hair to the side,
The wind throws the grains into the air,
And I begin to lose sight of them as the sand blows away.
Just like the days of our lives.
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