Your hand is running through my hair
And with every breath it seems it slows
After a while it feels like nothing's there
And after the shine, the grey shows
I wake up to sunshine in a cup
But the taste is no longer sweet,
A repetitive song in my mouth
The same sounds on my tongue.
The rainy days where we'd still venture outwards,
Sitting in the empty parks,
Listening to the leaves' longing,
Every drop clinging, until they fall,
And suddenly, they are unimportant.
The wind shook the branches of the trees,
Leaving the sky to our imagination,
The platinum clouds now faded,
And now the brightness of the water has jaded.
I can feel it at last.
The cold harsh stinging on my skin.
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