i'm neglecting my realm to dissent your repeating line.
but according to you all those letters were written out right.
confusing it seems but subconsciously rereading the poem you've had sent to me,
it blows a straight understanding of what may and may not rhyme.
inside those pages you've handed down.
beyond this library of our mind,
you've found the shelf where our moment was emphasized.
you vent it to your blank note.
a white paper full of false hope.
here now your chapters are closing.
your sentence is losing its depth to compile each character you're fusing.
the words that you're using it felt less amusing.
and the syllables failed to describe all my wonder.
sometimes i would sit at the balcony,
pairing all the vivid lights to bear away all those memories.
the one that got me stuck on hold while i'm addressing your head as my favourite bookstore.
to quote the sole author, i'll rewrite the story where it ends in a halt.
i vent it to my blank note.
a white paper full of false hope.
sometimes i would sit at the balcony,
pairing all the vivid lights to bear away all those memories.
the one that got me stuck on hold while i'm addressing your head as my favourite bookstore.
sometimes i would sit at the balcony,
pairing all the vivid lights to bear away all those memories.
the one that got me stuck on hold while i'm addressing your head

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