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It will never fade, But changes into the shapes Of quiet moments— Of happiness and sadness. Yet I can reach out to them In those whispers of memories, That we never want to let go of.
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Fading echoes

The world between us, Which doesn’t exist; But you tiptoe into my dreams, Where I see you— Dance, glow, and sway. But you feel the shadow of my songs, And wake up from the dream, Back into your own world.

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Away from all the outbursts Of ideas and thoughts, Right or wrong, You will find me on the horizon. Where the sun surrenders Laying barefoot on the dewy grass, As my sky turns orange to black, Waiting for the chaotic world to go to sleep. Find me, if you will. That's where our barefoot souls can feel the grass breathing alive, And where nothing else will matter.

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We are our memories or imaginations. Do you remember how it was? Or do you imagine how it should be? It seems as if it's blurred with desires. Is it true because I remember? Or because the demons that lie within me, partially imaginary.