once again, the last to be chosen
Why do I stay,
with old whispers and lukewarm coffee
as my only consolation
The pale, grey sky is nearly absent
What will hold me to the ground
if the sky lifts completely
and gravity fails?
I'm barely making contact now
This is in response to the photo writing prompt offered at Magpie Tales. Go there to see lots of wonderful writing. Photo is taken from Google images, unknown photographer.