#879-Tomorrow
27/12/2019
Perfect place.
The magical hideout.
A table,
Chair,
Bottle of wine.
Sun sets.
Darkness descends.
Stars begin their song.
A pencil starts to dance,
With a blank page,
Without lines.
Another night.
To feel moments passed.
Words swallowed,
Or uttered to the wind.
Teardrops on the page,
Break the silence.
The candle flickers.
Fire died out long ago.
It’s cold.
Fingers are numb.
Can’t write anymore.
Tears have dried.
Sun’s rising.
Maybe I’ll sleep now.
Or tomorrow.
