Day 39

I spin slowly in this circle, in place - is it my place? I survey these inches and my eyes dart from your face to the one next to you. And back. I wish I was capable of this thing, love is it? But, I have none to give. My burned fingertips have learned to snap back from the fury of the heat that never deceives.

I envy flowers, to grow in such a way that they do, to blossom without fear of a looming winter. They open, cry freedom, then are destroyed, swept away again. I've strayed, oh how I've strayed.

But Distance, I cry. Distance.