Your face is so calm. But I wonder why my skin feels the chill of a distant storm?
You’re dreaming, my dear. But your breakfast is ready: the melting cube of butter can’t hold it against your warm toast. I wonder when you see, will you let your restrains loose?
The sky is fawn: the setting october sun probes our lonesome hearts. I wonder when will you enlighten me?
A storm awaits. But you choose to sleep.
Daily prompt: Enlighten
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