White Sock Raindrops

I was dark and so we ran,
wearing only white socks that circled around my ankles like whirlpools,
I'm scared of how fast days seemingly slip by like water
like how you know a river by its name
forgetting that it only ever once was a few raindrops
because you believe raindrops are different from rivers
that life is the same as daydreams.
I fear that I have sewn memories I cannot remember with patches of fiction
because anything is better than a thousand abysses in my mind,
like instrumentals between the words,
I am here for the words,
some are here for the music,
but we are running in white socks on brown paste slopes
and I need words,
the raindrops and not the rivers
to tell me what is real.

-anna sluder

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