When in Dreams.

Her legs, muscles atrophied, were useless by day, but when she stepped over the threshold of sleep; pushing the veil between worlds aside, she ran through the meadow of sweet grass until the moon bade farewell.

Her withered legs wet with dew in the morning.

Published by

Liezel Graham

Wife. Mum. Lover of words. Lover of the Word. Writer of stories. I drink too much coffee and dream improbably big dreams. The quintessentially weird kid, all grown up and (still) finding refuge in books and words.

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