A chill breeze finds its way through the open window,
Tentatively swirling around the room
Until it brushes against my dry hands, finds
The cracks slowly forming in my skin, rustles
Between my fingers and the keys, slides
Across the back of my neck, sending shivers
Down the hairs along my spine.
I could close the window;
But I don’t.
A Teacup Full of Stories 