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Literature
Winter Heat, Summer Sleet
It's the middle of winter
And January's burning through,
Blurring into
February skies churning, becoming the color in my eyes
March is coming fast
And I know that its harsh winds cannot last
Yet I wonder if I'll still sing
When all becomes still at the end of spring
And heat sets in
Then will I long for this winter wind
To return to the land once again?
Literature
burning ice
"Vier und vierzig" I told the guy that was in charge of the skates and he gave me a pair of blue boots with a metal knife at the bottom. I took the skates and went to the bench to put them on. they were blue, hard, with the number 44 on white. I could already feel the cold ice burning on the ring. This was my third time skating, so I wasn't expecting to be already good. I had even forgotten how to move forward.
Yes. No less than 5 minutes I found myself dancing to find balance. Skating still wasn't my thing. But as people always tell me: "it's practise" I don't wonder the value of the sentence, even in othello you can find it "A minute to le
Literature
Snow
I remember that moment. Silent but for the glittered static of falling snow.
There was something strong in those seconds. Like we belong there, together.
You were angry and sick of the world.
I was lonely and scared of my mind.
We were broken and the snow filled the cracks in our porcelain skin.
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just testing the lit section
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