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Aug 2018
Here I am, in the middle of the night.
The wind, cold; the room, silent.
My eyes, blinded by the white light,
reading words that formed images of the past.

Words that I wrote.
Memories that I sought.
Sought I did, not to forget.
but to remember.

It was painful. Once.
But not anymore. No longer.
Now I smile, upon the beauty of naivety. Immaturity.
But most of all:

Words built upon childish love.
The little kid who thought,
he knew Pure Love.
But it was merely a whim.
A desire.
A choice.

He dove head-on,
without knowing anything at all.
And that he did, and he was
full of joy.

That's why he did not cry.
He did not even try.
He only felt cold. Empty.
Because he knew he lost something.
Something he held dearly.

And so, I lingered. 'Till now.
It's time to formally close that chapter.
And for new memories,
I shall wander.
Life, I guess.
Written by
P  20/M/Philippines
   Paul Hansford
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