The long time, and the long way —
but all I feel has passed in a few short hours;
all is clear, yet forgetting turns melancholic,
and still I walk, instead of tempting loneliness.
Instead of tagging the best moments of life,
all I hold is a restless struggle with myself;
it began with the start, toward an end —
but with the endless journey of arguments,
day after day passes, like an inheritance.
Leave a Reply