Poetry

HORIZON

You.

Hard to read, hard to keep up with.

Something to prepare for.

And I am not prepared.

You whisked me off my feet, never ending heights you made me reach.

Bittersweet.

A bliss that makes it hard to breathe.

Should I retreat?

‘Sun will rise,

 sun will set.’

I tell myself.

Bright and blue,

Shining through.

But cloudy skies paint the picture too.

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