Twenty-eigth.
الفيروز
Words were hanging on the thin line of my lungs as I thought of every possible way to surface and land somewhere I knew myself. Time was always my enemy never a company until I knew that if it was only to my heart to give up holding on to what wouldn't matter the most. Spreading the lost air of hope was my revolution to become alive . On another note to write, may the savior of words beholding my hands and name interlined.