My name has been written
in a piece of letter,
waiting for me
to come
for a warm conversation.
I was lost...
I was swimming into the imagination
of the melancholy.
Leaves were embraced in the street.
It was autumn.
That tree has got red hair...
In her hair, I found a photo.
I found you memory.
I looked back on the portrait of
that girl with red hair.
Her hair was a leaf from that tree,
waiting for other leaves for company.
It was her...
the girl who waits for me.
Sep 17, 2016
Sep 17, 2016 at 8:13 AM UTC
My name has been written
in a piece of letter,
waiting for me
to come
for a warm conversation.
I was lost...
I was swimming into the imagination
of the melancholy.
Leaves were embraced in the street.
It was autumn.
That tree has got red hair...
In her hair, I found a photo.
I found you memory.
I looked back on the portrait of
that girl with red hair.
Her hair was a leaf from that tree,
waiting for other leaves for company.
It was her...
the girl who waits for me.
