Mind weaves the thread over the stories of our books
It inks those chapters indifferently
The envision are the same days like two sides of a coin
The untitled songs are sung when his hands hold me tight
I melt down in his sight
He leaves his smell on me
Which brights my smile
Her special days are his hand made gifts
Believing that my broken parts find way to his puzzled dreams
Answer the silent voice that always screams
He stamps every sand of my clock
I reserve his seats for my future destinations
You are the constant of my perishing life.
Nov 24, 2025
Nov 24, 2025 at 5:38 PM UTC
Mind weaves the thread over the stories of our books
It inks those chapters indifferently
The envision are the same days like two sides of a coin
The untitled songs are sung when his hands hold me tight
I melt down in his sight
He leaves his smell on me
Which brights my smile
Her special days are his hand made gifts
Believing that my broken parts find way to his puzzled dreams
Answer the silent voice that always screams
He stamps every sand of my clock
I reserve his seats for my future destinations
You are the constant of my perishing life.
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