The eyes have not spoken to me, so nothing has been written.
you are older, wiser, made of less laughs
your lips are smooth, not cracked like that winter
your skin, not as rough
as though you've been sheltered inside
warm air pooling around you
fire crackling besides your still
burdened bones
the day is as yesterday’s was
the night, is as tomorrow’s will be
things once saved aren't remembered
that moment captured is no longer easily delved.
the light is only in certain angles
its all possible and plausible,
and able to be found
remains of scattered ships;
relations
or sea casted,
always floating on the surface
to be gathered and discovered
the deeper ones,
sinking.....
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