Grace Mary Potts


My life is comprised of inconsistencies, daydreaming, procrastination techniques and occasionally, writing.

Message from Writer

I wouldn't quite call myself a novice in writing but as there is certainly room for improvement, I would very much appreciate any comment you can provide, particularly if it's the constructive kind.

Miles From Home

October 16, 2015

Our cheeks sting with the icy bite of the early morning air, the wind's touch sharp and freezing against our bare faces. For months we persevered through the summer's blistering heat and the sun's withering gaze. For months we learned how to survive in this new life, struggling to find balance as the earth moved under our feet. Months it took us to feel comfortable here. Months.

Then the season changed. 

Now, under the unforgiving gale, our flesh proves to be as solid as eggshell, splitting open with each lash against our skin. And it hurts. It hurts that our hands are stiff and numb with cold but our wrists still sweat with heat - stinging and blistering as shackles rub against our skin. It hurts that we worked so hard, digging day after day, deep into dry ground, only to have our pace become so slow. To become so weak with cold. 

It hurts because even after months of work and trying to evade our captors - we're still miles away from home. 

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