All upon a Sunday’s graces tracing unsubstantially the whispers of a candle’s wick too terse to hold a flame, the words of faulty theories and of flawed assumptions burnt into the finer points of days whose fog is thick as thieves.

All of us are leaves and light and unexpected trifles in the forest left to seep away today, a picture of potential silence quarreling and circumspect, all of us invested in the smallest drops of dew, and all upon the mild fall of Sunday’s spare caprice.

#Sunday #Morning

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