Bags - Different

The cold glass rung out in response to my tapping fingers as I looked out.
It curved upwards and around me, contorting my sight.

I felt, contained, which perhaps is all I could hope for.

Yet, that ringing was ceaseless.
Even after my fingers lay quiet, the high pitch had nowhere to go.

Just ringing.

Lil’ Mystics - .... . ·----· .-.. .-.. ... ..- ..-. ..-. --- -.-. .- - .