It's been two months since i have written back,
looking at my past promises
and broken hopes,
i wonder what younger me was thinking at this moment
This moment
This second
This year
What's different, as i seem to near
my last ****** day on this forbidden earth
There's nothing here anymore for me,
Not one word, nor a sound
That's pleasing to me
The ground is barren, cold and wet
the skies are empty, is that it?
I have written back,
still insincere and still silent
I wonder if i never wrote the first letter,
Would it be just a normal year?