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Jun 2014
I'm here in the stage.
I'm playing my guitar.
I see a lot of faces,
but there is not "the one".

I imagine her at home,
writing about the hole world.
Is this what time has did to us?
To tears us apart?

I remember the time we had.
I remember her smile.
I wish I could go back on time
to pause the "goodbye" for a while.
Hannah Grey
Written by
Hannah Grey  Peru
(Peru)   
349
 
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