The kite swept me down
The peak
Covered in purple snow.
Where I counted
My dreams
Toiled into a dream weaver.
Spun intricately
Wholly unknown.
People see the kite
Bumbling along
The parched ground
And turn their heads.
Children blink listlessly.
The kite lands in a tree.
Skewered by time.
A lifestyle blog about the life of a young journalist and barista: homemade pastries, creative writing, and romance. Coffee tales sprinkled with cinnamon and the spices of life!
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