Pink Morning



In the pink morning, I imagine holding my whole mess of troubles out in front of me. Listening to the susurrating grass, I let the every worry be snatched away by the wind. They tumble and roll through the air, until they reach the colourful clouds. There they leech on, turning the clouds black, and the quiet morning fills with lightning and rolling thunder. Just like that my worries become everyoneโ€™s problem.

So I decide to keep my troubles inside instead.

Where they fester.

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  1. On behalf of the rest of us a hearty “thank you.” ๐Ÿ˜‰

  2. Loved this piece; such imagery! Conveyed your message so well.

  3. When that festering finally explodes, it’s gonna be nasty! … good story. ๐Ÿ™‚


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