Storm McKenna Adams Your laugh brushes over my ears, gentle
as the flutter of a butterfly's wings. The smell of the sea gently wafts over us, its melody creating a dreamy lullaby. The soft clouds in the sky are innocent and pure. I am at peace, at home in your company. Our laugh becomes passionate, devouring us from the inside out, creating a Necessity for oxygen never felt before. I feel happy, joyous, alive. The waves grow larger from the wind, and the clouds grow denser as our friendship grows. Yet I can’t help wondering, how will this end? It is rather nihilistic, but Everything pure ends eventually, and I know this will be no different. Will it be painful? Bitter? Will it be a storm of sadness, a flurry of tears? Or will it just be numb, a small disappointment, a river slowly forming into a stream, then running dry? The sun could glare down on our corpse-like bodies, Scorching. Burning. The thought of water and peace entirely consuming, ripping our body with desperation but there would be no water, no sea, no clouds, no sky, no tears. Nothing but the blinding, burning, scorching, searing desert left to shrivel us and break us into a thousand tiny pieces, crumbling into dust. We would both wish for the storm, for the tsunami, for anything but this agonizing numbness But there would be no turning back. Against all wishes our torture under this blazing hell of a sun would continue to infinity. Or your eyes could be a rainstorm with the news. Flying around me in sadness, drowning me in your blinked back tears. I might not be able to breathe, and picturing it I want to cry and laugh and scream and die. The sea would become a tsunami, splitting us apart, filling our lungs with acrid salt water. The clouds become thunder and lightning, electrocuting us as we scream into the deafening silence. Or we could just have a sinking feeling, a paper boat punctured with a tiny hole. Then time passes, the boat sinking slowly, until one day there is nothing left. We would sometimes scoop water out with a small bucket, but it would only slow the process. We would slowly turn away from each other, unclasp our hands, To go in different directions, Never looking back.
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New York City Mckenna Adams Summer
Heat pulsed, no breeze of relief The air conditioner fiercely blew, driving out the worst of it The smell of cut wood and wall paint pervasive The ice cream truck playing songs outside It was indeed a cruel summer. Fall Cool air blew through the streets The classroom filled with people at work Friendships came into blossom Even as the trees lost their cover And the streets were filled with people dancing salsa. Winter The world grew white Beautiful specks floated from the sky, biting into flesh Breaths pumped rhythmically, inhaling the sharp air And the buildings downtown punctured the sky and ascended into the heavens The aroma of gingerbread and mint staining soft blankets. Spring The city woke again, from a deep slumber Green buds popped up on trees And life seemed to be carried through the air With two friends becoming inseparable But as soon as everything awoke, a pandemic caused it to sleep again. Summer Ambition stole through the atmosphere Intense focus on growth Never seemed to go away Except for the morning runs to the river and park Where the flowers bloomed and the trees were covered in green. Fall Days blended together Like vivid colors of paint mixing to become brown Everyday was filled with work An endless overflowing cup, with no escape And the world became dull with routine. Winter Soon the cold came again, carried through the air The buildings downtown lightly brushed the sky Then the buildings turned into trees as a car engine purred, And the trees became a cabin, cozy and warm, almost otherworldly Where life seeped through again. Spring Reunions slowly came, like fireflies in the darkness The trees and rocks grew green again Hope slowly drifted through the air Like a delicious scent you can almost identify, but not quite Summer And the city slowly awakened once more . |
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