She leaned over the windowsill
crossing her arms, and admiring
the dainty cracks in the cloudy sky,
her evening wept a drizzle before
the Sun winded up its light to
another night.
She gazed at the distance beyond
her eyes, vacantly, incessantly, as if
looking for a home to hug the homeless
freedom of her soul.
She admired sunset playing with the
woolen ball of her emotions and
opening it up to just threads, unending,
with knots and nots.
She knitted a sweater of warmth with
her smiles, and wrapped it around the
mirror to hide the wet soil after drizzle.
Sometimes,
even a listener needs a listener,
Perhaps, her only listener is the sky
in her empty ears.
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