there are still lines that aren’t impart
(the details i told him)
there are still a notion that aren’t out
(the details i told him)
he was the archive of myself whom i loved
he was the museum of love which i can’t confer anymore in the present
he was the love of my life
and also i was the love of my life
and that cost with the ruminations.
i am lost
i am full of grief
i am at the off track
and it also cost with “when’s the right time to feel the right dimension of you?”
if that is nowhere to be found.
it left the hanging letter
“17 year-old version of me, are you still there?”
i am still hoping to see how you love in a farsight.
shesshy 