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The Pennyfeather lane
is dark, cold and weary.
Not a soul in sight
at this time of night.
All I can hear is my own breathing.
The hairs stand up on the back of my neck.
Coldness spreads through the lane.
I’d love to be by the fire.
Being alone
scares me
so much.
Why can’t you be near me?
If I screamed
right now
at the top of my lungs –
would anyone actually hear me?