i am sleeping & the green of the leaves of trees is still, unmoving, detached from its source. the green of the leaves leaves the leaf as the tree stood still in the wind. it is driving past, the wind, carrying the tree & its branches & its leaves w/ it, but not the green. the green stays, in the same shape of the tree's leaves, after it has left. & i am gone as well.
I write short stories. This is my blog. I'm going to write whatever.