Gentle breath. Breeze forms letters. Words. Whispers have emotions. Sigh of a lover, threat of an enemy. Lips barely part. Desire. Longing. A secret. Shared. The whisper that is lost. Passed from ear to ear. Becomes something it never was. Bobbing on the surface of the water. Carried by the wind. Up to the skies. Hidden. Mocking. Words behind backs. The whisper stabs. You did not hear the words, but you know. You know. The whisper is blue. And white. A sunny sky. Seemingly gentle. Deceiver. I sit on a whisper. It floats. It flies. Press your ear against the door. Against the wall. Prop a glass. Funny. People speak loud. My hands press against my ears. Squeeze eyes shut. No more. No more. But a whisper? Strain. Strain. I must know. The whisper is magic. Blessings. Curses. The whisper kills. The whisper that killed. The whisper kills the whisper that killed. 


Written on 20th April 2020 as part of a freewriting exercise with my writers group. The prompt was ‘Whisper’.

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