If the night was her armour and the dark her friend, she would dance with her shadows in the hazy dale,
But they told me that she spread her arms at 5 am, inhaled the universe and its morning air.
Night skies seduced her in the way that blew her fantasies like the kite painted red, and she shuddered at the shooting star, knowing it was too early to be late.
She waved at the comets she didn’t see and the moon that disappeared somewhere in the trailing clouds, told herself that it was morning again.
And little did they know, she woke up in the morning daisies and collapsed in the darkest oceanic glare.
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