The Girl’s Shoe

The sky separates space from a facade. The atmosphere clouds me with an expectation of fog.
Flash floods push still waters aside through euphoric waterfalls. Sweat spreads itself to warm my cold-to-the-touch fingers, holding Cinderella’s shoe.
The phone rings at the stroke of midnight, making each minute a shadow of a memory. A breath left unsaid from the voice behind a call, holding Cinderella’s shoe.

Cinderella wanders about, bouncing off the walls, reaching for a call, searching for her shoe.

With each ring, doubt punched my stomach, and time hid behind fear.
The heat pressed my face, sending chills the length of my spine, holding her shoe.
An hourglass, leaking sand hangs above a thought, capturing a concept in a seemingly shallow season of projection.

A knock on the door sends panic through my being.
Did I leave my shoe here?

You did, and you’re welcome to come in and stay awhile.

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