Her breath pliable, she crouched down in that corner, the one that didn’t fit like a glove.
Her movements were whispers, soft and borrowed from someone she couldn’t remember, but they had told her to use them in times such as these. The movements abandoned her though, as she started crying the music her mother used to sing to her.


31 thoughts on “map

              1. Steve Simpson says:

                To me, at least. The 50% I speak is the spaces between the sounds. The various species of birds around here were carrying on with a lot of noise, but now they’ve suddenly stopped. If it was a movie, that would mean a gigantic wombat or whatever was approaching. So decaf coffee break for me too, before it’s too late. And cake.


hi. friendly banter is always welcome.

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