I'm scared to read that poem again, the poem I wrote 4 him at hundred something.
"You make a good one, dear. Please write 4me another, ill se u soon. Beloved." He told me at the morning. Maybe the last morning.
I hope it would be the last memory I have too. I swear I won't make any poem again! Ever!
The days gone by slowly damn and I still miss the past. I'm weary but I prepare to follow down the road..
Not to find the crackin sometin or the smilling face with his flattering old brand new..
But just to wander across the light. Cause still I have the feeling near, how a stranger come to mine and take my breathe.. almost away!!
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