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Nov 2018
I woke up by eight in the morning,
feeling a cold wind on my face,
so I looked up to the half opened window,
and it was cold and rainy day.
As I satΒ Β on the edge of my bed,
feeling the heat of the night before leave me,
my skin started to feel cold,
and my toughts,
which where focused in you,
descend on the foggy hole where our dreams go.
And yet, as tough I had tought I could never forget what we had,
I felt all those moments turn into memories:
all that sadness turning into raindrops falling on my head,
all the happy times just fading into the past,
all of you, becoming a distant part of me.
I guess is time to close that window,
before anything else decides to disappear,
leaving me here,
just like you did,
for another long, long year...
Pedro Vialle
Written by
Pedro Vialle  21/M/Brazil
     PoetryJournal, Fawn, Bree and Ali Ashraf
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