Dear You,

I ran to the water, to the
faded grey of midmorning ponds.
they were layered in
a string of faint webs, oak leaves
caught in the wind of a spider.

But before I could touch the
little streams, I tumbled over
a mossy rock and found myself
stumbling under a tree trunk, under a
constellation of birch chests.

My breath skipped over me
and fell into the water, dribbling
out to another voice. I was out,
I lay there fading, my skin paling,
my breath drowning in the pond.

-Me

(Source: writeletters-dearyou)