The White Silence
by Maxim Drogaytsev
lights in the sky

cold november air is tickling fingertips and there is no protection from that. all noises are fading away, only wind is howling in the distance

the cold front is moving from the north, purifying the air. they are watching, watching and recording every step

there are many streets to run through, but there is no escape. only lights in the sky are waving goodbye


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