It looked
Green.
A foul
dream in the mist.
The air was
thin and cold.
Their lips
in front of me.
They
smiled.
The air was
so thin.
I couldn’t
reach for
their lips,
that fragile
smile,
closing the
dream upon
me.
Everything
was
green as
the sun set.
Clouds and
mist,
intertwined
at the point
of being
oblivious to
separation
of concepts,
threatened
with eating
my
ankles.
Screams of
opera and the
music of
carnival flooded
my mind as
the memories
of some
lips slips
from
cognition.
Then the
air turns
pink.
A
translucent pink
mist that
makes all things
seem
harsher, sharper.
And I feel
the need to
look for
something I let
myself
forget. It feels like
it was just
one eternity
ago. It was
something
green,
among mist,
and hunger…
and
nostalgia.
The pink of
the snow,
the
reflection of a dying
sun shines
brighter.
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