The Spectator

“Don’t be a Sheep” series by Christina Romero

I am floating through a timeless abyss, not knowing when I will land. Days fade to weeks and months, but I do not know what these words mean anymore. Seconds and minutes slip through the cracks in my mind like grains of sand. I watch from above and see laughter and stars like freckles on the face of the night sky. I see stomach aches from sticky, sweet strawberry popsicles, the smell of grass and earth emanating from sun-kissed skin like the sweetest perfume. That world is impossibly distant, and just as I reach the boundary where abyss meets Earth, it shifts with an elusive grin. I watch the girl below, with wild, curious eyes that look much like my own. I do not know her. Did she ever exist? Pictures remind me that she is as real as the air I breathe, but I dig and I dig through the wreckage in my mind, and I come up with nothing to show but dirt in my lungs and empty hands.

abigail hurtt

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