Tomorrow, as always, I swear,
tomorrow, I open the soul
the closed window. I give my permission
for the scent of summer
flooding inside. Light to flow into the fresh
air support in mind. I open my ears
listen carefully, that none of the
even the tiniest important voice would pass away.
I want to record the memories
what sounds like a nightingale's song
Misty summer night.
This summer, I promise:
I would venture to create my skin, and
ventilate my feelings out into the
world from the window of my soul.
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