photo (7)

Hair tangled within the breeze of the beating wind

Slamming into face before catching onto the wild curly strands

Eyes watering but lacking the emotion to cry

Because riding almost feels like flying, living

Closing eyes but gripping tighter

Balled up fists clutching leather reins, sweaty slick contentment

Faster we shoot forward, moving as one

Two souls pounding ground faster than the speed of sound

Confusing each heartbeat for the pace of the unicorn

Blonde mare with pale green eyes

Braided hair like rider, waving back in escape

Running forward, not away, and laughing at the dust cloud behind


I am grateful for resolutions after a long day. ❤


3 responses »

  1. Bitter are the Unicorns now, all the compassion once in their hearts has become selfish instinct of survival and ideals of genocide

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