Do you hear it, too?

That deep, dark hole that lit a fire in you?

Yes, dear, the one that started way back then,

when I was eleven and you were just ten.

All that walking and talking over washed babies’ cries,

without no goodbyes, or a mere tear in the eyes?

Looking back at the days that we spent in the sand,

and you would hold up your hand, and then make a big stand,

without a glance at the faces that grew from behind,

just like my goodbye –

the only room left for some stars and the sky.

July 7, 2013


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