I can’t believe I’m writing this
Now that my heart is so naive
Three years I’ve waited for my hands to prick
Still no words written by my quill
Blankless I am, naked are the ink
thirty six months of my life you steal
eighteen months of bliss, eleven months of despair, seven months of distress is all you give
When I turn back, I won’t remember your name
That face, that smile, washed out by the rain ..
And as I slide to the brush of seven colors through the sun
I’ll wear a smile and welcome the sweetest bond

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