Silver Bubble

I wore little, the shorts I had on clung onto my waist.  It was boiling. I sat up on the edge of my bed listening to the heavy rain hit the window. It was now far beyond the witching hour- I couldn’t sleep so I lit the candle on my desk and picked a pencil.

Dear You,

How did you find my thought? Yes, this that you’re reading was once a thought, now it’s something in your hands. Isn’t that magnificent? We may never meet, but nonetheless, here you are sharing my thought.
I’m sitting hunched over my desk, thinking about the evening that has passed- have you noticed?
Have you noticed that you’re friend’s may have ears, but they don't hear you cry. They may have a heart, but they don’t feel what you’re going through. They may have eyes, but they cannot see you're monsters. Have you ever wondered if you experience the same blue when both of you stare at the summer sky?
The wick on my candle is burning, how long is this illumination going to last?

Tossing and turning,
Yang

The End

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