Really though, what am I?

It fell heavy. With a sort of depth that made the floor wish it was the sky. Then it was over. The pieces were scattered. The light was gone – the colour ripped into the wood. Scratching at every dust particle and aged texture there was. But really, what am I?

Written by A. Writes

3 thoughts on “Really though, what am I?

  1. Lovely. Thank you for sharing

  2. This is lovely

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