The warmth of the sun fading.
The wind blowing distantly.
The coolness of a summer evening after rain tickling my skin. The fall sound of birds chirping, leaves rustling.
All dying away with the silence of the night approaching.
All things are obsolete to the deafening silence approaching. All but the music of a hallow man
The sweetness of a southern strumming guitar.
The noise from a box makes the sun a little warmer.
And the night a little more bearable.
Anything to avoid the emptiness.
Just letting the plucking of strings wisk my soul away.
My shell.
Still feeling the coldness approaching.
Well aware of the silence, the darkness.
The never ending fears of thinking.
But my soul, my soul.
She flies away to solitude.
Peace, love, joy, silence–comfortable in her skin.
Not reaching but accepting the impossible.
Peace with oneself at last.


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