Thin Times

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   I watched through the window, passed the bare tree branches that reach me, all that went on in front of my house. When it would rain and drops hit the glass, as if hitting my own skin and staining it, but only being  the sensation of eyes as they bled tears from theirs ducts and slid down my skin like droplets down the glass in front of me. I would watch as lovely dogs of various breeds walk aimlessly, tongues out and so their hearts as they sprung lighter and higher off the ground with each of their steps. Only to later discover they were lost dogs from a home wondering people— as I watched them walk aimlessly with their hearts out.

   I watched as the buds grew in on the trees. A sign of my time spent standing there and its passing; where the sun is now setting, washing the town clean of light with light.

   I watched through my window as my hand rose and scratched my scalp, through the strands of unkempt hair. I saw myself in the glass as a reflection and nothing else, not what's behind me— neither my bare wall nor time— because of the sheer field I've found myself facing.

   But I watched myself against the rain that hit my window, against the lovely lost dogs of breeds that walked aimlessly. Against the branches full of fresh green leaves that reached me. I extended my arm, my joints aching at the sudden jolt of movement, where my elbow, wrist and knuckles all connect by the motive of feeling the cycle which has been encountered through centuries and has never been ventured so that we can can move on.

   Against the forces that counteract us and passed the laws that detain us. My joints have been noticed by the feeling of angst and complete moments of déjà vu. It met with the glass and held my hand reflected in it.

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326 words

-- Leila N.

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