It’s raining on us, the cover of our book soaked through. The fields outside the window are flooded and water runs down the walls. It’s alright though. Someone will find us.
The wind is blowing, flipping our pages back and forth, back and forth. We sway from side to side, unable to keep balance. A page tears, and we watch the earth crack. It’s okay. Someone will find us.
The snow is covering the pages. The words are fading. The fields outside are gone. The walls are vanishing to white. The others are lost.
Someone will find me.
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