You are the ear-piercing sound of people rushing around in London.
You are the taste of sweet, fluffy marshmallows in a pocket.
You are the sound of music to my ears.
You are stranded in a rainforest waiting to be saved.
You are the impossibility of
hot ice, rainbow clouds
and non-sticky syrup.
You are the smell of perfume, filling the room, with a sweet rose scent.
You are an abandoned child on the side of a boiling hot road, surviving hunger.
You are the smell of stinky monkeys in a tiny enclosure.
You are the smell of burning fire in a crackling building.
You are hot like magma in a volcano, as cold as the classrooms during covid and as normal as earth.
You are the happiness we feel, like a full stomach after a roast dinner.
You are a horseshoe stranded in a muddy field, waiting for it’s hero.
You are the tick-tock sound of a clock, on a barren wall hoping to retire.
You are the finish line.
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