If I should wake before I die,
I pray that my dreams were beautiful.
That my sheets smelled like lavender
so when I breath I grasp the aroma.
Up is like down when your mind tries to spiral into a coffin, sometimes I get speechless and start coughing.
She held her life in her own hands as if it were beach sand, but just like beach sand it slipped between her finger tips...
It slipped between MY fingertips.
Life is a breath of fresh air.
An aroma I can never seem to grasp.
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