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Someday.
Folder:
High School His hands were graceful and moved like water.
But they have no meaning,
they flow on and on away from me,
and I wonder how it came to be that they made me,
crafted me from the clay,
whisked me from the sea.
It scares me when I have nothing to say.
No one will read these one day,
the day when she is gone,
I've moved on,
and I am truly alone here on these pages.
I'm afraid.
I cannot even grasp my name...
his hands are gone...
and the clay is melting.
the rivers are returning
to the sea.
