The suns currently low over the sky of London, and as I look up, I’m illuminated by the pinks and blues that grace the sky. The clouds have drawn in and hang heavily as my eyelids droop under tiredness’s burden.
I stare my reflection down to see a girl with dark hair, dark eyeliner, dark clothes and dark eyes that ultimately lead to a darkening soul. The girl behind the saddened expression is falling apart so slowly yet so rapidly that no one around her knows. Not a single person that’s brushed her arm today or fallen over her feet. Not a single one.
The hours are long and overdrawn, each one growing longer and pulling me closer to the inevitable. Each minute the heartbeat is fading with each pulse of the hand upon my face- my clock face, a metaphor for time and age itself.
My rucksack beside me…
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