In my long term memory it shall remain,
How you were and how we’ve been,
Locked, sealed, and buried,
Into the depths of being that bled.
Only the spiral habit of time can tell,
Or if there’s any truth in a wishing well,
Let it not be all covered in vanity,
For there shall prevail a veracity.
This soul of mine is finally free,
Back to its banter nature as idiosyncrasy,
Hushing, wining, humming and whistling in music,
As I stare at you from afar like a mosaic.
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