I miss the beautiful things that I found lost and found me
in a dirty box
I miss how they drove this hand to pour blood and passion
from a locked room to an open field
In this field people run as fast as they can with myopic
vision of two
They retreat to the trees at night and hold their happiness
with all their might
Warmer these trees grow higher than before
Swaying but staying as they move as one from now until they
fall down to the floor
It never seems to be a possibility when you are flying so high
and your wings flutter alongside angels’ wings
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