Tuesday, April 29, 2014

Slippery Rooftops, by S.M. Bjarnson

The rain was misty, the rooftop was a clean white, puddles of raindrops covered the ground which I stood on.
The most amazing magical feeling becomes embedded into your heart.
A feeling of wholeness.
I stumbled towards the edge, the surroundings of the top of the building.
I stared downward at the cemented ground.
I slipped my molly Mormon purple white flowered shoes off, stepped on the wet blocked wall.
I glimpsed above me the sun was shining as the raindrops trickled down my face, I smiled.
Turned and faced the door and fell back into the air and clouds.

If I could be anything I would be the rain.
I laid down on the wet grass, as the hail beat upon my dampened rained on clothes.
The raindrops on my face became tears trickling down my face and for the first time I felt I should cry and it would be okay.
Cold and wet my body laid in confusion and sadness.
Rain came down in bullets/pellets.
I felt clean and new.
My skin became frozen cold.
Time ran out to many times before.


 S.M. Bjarnson

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