Knife

A knife held over me. A reminder of who I am. There’s wind, there’s tears. Reach up and you’ll feel the clouds’ tears. Tears of bitter gold, tears that sink and burn into your skin, carving their presence in your calloused skin, wind that blows you away, that dances and embraces you until you can’t feel the sweet caress of the fresh air, wind so strong that it blows your thoughts away. And the knife. A knife with which you cut apples in half, a knife in which you hold someone’s fate, a knife which was held over me. The wind cried out and the droplets of acid fell onto my disintegrating face.