Transatlantic

 Sometimes, when I'm sitting outside
Breathing in the cool, crisp air
At five in the morning
Trying to soothe my raw, burning throat

I daydream

I daydream about a world I could never know
One I could never have
A world, where the past 300 years, never happened
Or even one where the past 200
One hundred
The past twenty
Worlds that are long out of reach

I daydream about these worlds
And wonder what they would be like to live in
To live in a world so foreign to me,
One in which I never lost my voice

One thought on “Transatlantic

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