Micro-fiction

The voice that once formed mountains, the ocean, and deserts spoke again. But this time it was soft and, carried on the stars, crept into my bedroom as I slept to enter my dreams, weaving them into solid matter. And so it is. All ideas are born from dust.

Independent content creator, ghostwriter, author https://tinyurl.com/y2cgqhgv mental health advocate, and poet. bridgetwebbber@outlook.com

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