Runic: Caoimhe's Tales and Poems

A collection of original poems and stories

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6. Beautiful Nowhere

The windows are cold as ice. When you look out of the window you feel so small, like you’re inside of a snow globe. The snowflakes stick to the windows forming delicate patterns that are gone as soon as they appear. The walls painted orange reminisce about how the sun used to kiss them tenderly and make them glow with light. The blankets seem alive as they hold you tightly they use the wind as their voice whispering to you of dreams you’ve yet to dream; a mirror on the wall becomes like a sheet of ice with tired eyes peering from the other side staring back at you. The wood floors in one last effort to thwart your awakening sting you with sharp needles made of pure wintery tears. A rug becomes a small comfort from the floors poisoned stings that leave you numb and shivering. Sitting on the cold hard bench by the door is a small white bear smiling as it fills the room with the smell of cinnamon, beside it stands a desk full of little treasures and a dried yellow rose bowing in surrender to the death it never feared. Paintings lean against the wall dreaming of the day when they will share one girl’s visions with all who will see. A porcelain doll smiles at the sleepy animals on the shelf around her as they dream of Christmas day. Hushed voices and sounds of crinkling paper drift down the hallway. The moon barely manages to peek through the silent fury of a winter’s stormy night into a small room on top of a hill in the middle of a beautiful nowhere.

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