7:13


insight eight
wind weaves through my torn jumper as I sprint through the deserted forest, frost biting at every branch. cradling my frayed grey bag in my arms, i exhale heavy mist from my chapped lips. I have come too far to stop, I must keep running.  escaping. journeying onto a free land.

~ this helped me win a writing competition in my area ... yay big crowds and posh people ...  ~

👽

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