Dust Covered Writing Fragments

I spent a year balancing my fears on the edges of my attitude. They settled there, in my chest, right where you found them, embraced them and closed them. You brought me some coffee in bed, and some pastries, you pulled a cover on me, it looked perfect, it wasn’t. There was dust all over the coffee, the cover the pastries, even your face. You told me you were a safe place, but you were nothing more than a feeling, a ghost, that made me feel calm but lost.

Noble but fake, they swing and rotate the wooden crests rising and falling. Upon them, raising their hands, children are trying to catch a sweet bait. But in that hustle of candies and lights of cackles bursting out of sneering mouths, could two eyes stumble on their muzzle, whose paint and smiles are slowly cracking? Could two ears grasp the creaking sound of the cranking rods that anticipates the end of the ride?