The Moon and I #15

I exist, making no movements through the leaves of trees,

Leaving barely a trail marking my path,

Cautiously stepping over the branches and flowers that

Dot the places I call home.

I exist, letting the air tumble from my lungs like soft clouds,

Letting the world expel me from its presence as it sees fit.

There is nothing left for me here;

There is nothing I could do to make my marks more signature or apparent.

The earth will choose who it may,

And I,

I am in the masses.

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