De frosting.

Don’t talk.


A cicada. The 8am angelus. The floating French voices on the breeze.

Don’t move.

Sit with.

The stillness. Your heartbeat. The rays which start to defrost that well-layered mask.

Don’t look.


The blue sky. The green vines. The orange passion fruits. The people who are here and matter.

Don’t think.


The memories. The ones you do want and those you don’t. The essence of you.




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