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I picture us as the warmth of the sun in winter,
we sense that everything keep going faster, so we take a break for a while
somewhere under the acacia tree
you tell me how your life was, and I tell you my secrets one by one
there is no music in the background, all we have are
psithurism, and the sky, and the crickets that sing
you give me tons of smile, I never starved for it even in slightest interval of time
and I write you poetries on the fallen leaves...
-f.azzahra-