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 ... ~ 👽