by Sigred Yamit

I walk home everyday
my watch ticking to the rhythm of my pulse
they say I walk so slowly
I shrug and blame my tiny feet
it has become a habit of mine though
to stop and stare at the sky
I never knew it could
be this blue
never knew such clouds existed
long and so vivid
the purest white adorning
the regal blue
I trail their movements as
they glide leisurely in the horizon
playfully covering up the sun
teasing me as they form into
something familiar
I love this game
I blow through my mouth
practicing how to whistle
….(my friends say I’m hopeless yet I whistle nonetheless) I look down at my tattered shoes and
stare back at the sky
the clouds travel so lazily
I match my steps with their pace
I whistle as I count the shapes they’re forming
for a moment forgetting the cold metal on my wrist.

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