I see the sun setting and imagine all the days that must have lain down and rested their head on his giant belly; faded away into an abyss of past tense. A heaven of days. Dusk, their graveyard.
They leave behind the colours of summer that smile at me. There are infant flowers of purple resting contentedly on their mothers' green breast. They belong to a family of green. Their cousins, the trees, wave from above and dance and laugh when the wind sneaks up from behind and ruffles their hair. I feel tears pool in the corners of my eyes as I gaze up at them, wishing so very desperately that I could join in their playful charade. I stretch my arms up, squeezing my eyes shut as I will myself to feel my limbs elongating and my body growing tall enough so that I may reach up to hold their rough hands and listen to their stories of a world seen from the sky.
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