January 2024
Pen or Harpoon?
“It is time,” Sun says.
Again? I almost sigh; it’s pointless. I trudge towards the horizon, harpoon in hand.
Mirror
The reflection shatters into a thousand shards, resplendent, subversive, cutting edges catching light.
“It is time,” Sun says.
Again? I almost sigh; it’s pointless. I trudge towards the horizon, harpoon in hand.
The reflection shatters into a thousand shards, resplendent, subversive, cutting edges catching light.