Fabricated for resilience The philosophy; adjoin in solidarity with another Bewildered? Regarding a matter of discourse Ogling the remarkable verges with condemnation Amid islands aloft bodies of water Matters not the how or why Only to coalesce is the intent
A short story that I wrote a year ago, edited.
Where am I?
I don’t understand.
Is this a dream?
Why is that woman singing my name?
“Sweet Angeline I loved you much more than poets say in rhyme, waaaakkkke up punkin.”
“Mom?” The sound of my childlike voice alarmed me to the point of tears.
In a futile attempt to assess the situation, I began to analyze how this could be that I’m once again a small child. Wearing a Wonder Woman nightgown, I lay in a very uncomfortable spring bed in a bedroom that I barely remember.
Panic stricken and with wet cheeks, I try to find a rational explanation of why I’ve suddenly woken up as my three-year old self. “I should not be here.”
Misunderstanding my predicament, mother comes to me for comfort. “Did you have a bad dream sweetie?” Scooping me up in her lap, she holds tight and rocks us both in perfect unison…
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