A thin layer of bright yet calm ice on the surface. A rage of whirlpool and tides below.
A distracted focus. A bottom line on which everything would be pulled down if vigilance is ever dropped.
A shadow to hide under. A freedom that I dare not to touch.
A ball of frustration. A layer of sadness that fill the gaps as well. Above them, a lingering pang of cancerous worry.
Still, I don't think it's my turn to sigh, let alone rest. Yet.
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