Categories
Prose

Sweltering

The heat collapses into melody, baring souls no longer present. A wild memory appears. It is super effective. The mind establishes the Moria bridge, refusing to move or die. Shadows fill the stands, silently cheering.

This time, simply existing is winning. A harder game, when doing nothing seems the wrong move. The wrong love. Cross. Don’t fight. Don’t remember or look back. Quests no longer lie in the swelter. The other side of the pillow beats the south side of the sky.

Magic is real. It’s just hard to perform.

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