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The last time we met I said

 that I will see you again and I meant it.

 I, a defeated soldier will walk with an empty gun and a radio in a war 

for as long as the song reminds me of lost love, your feet stepping out of the door

The mean gravity of love, sticks us to the ground when we are meant to fly, merry go round the moon.

I wish hopeless Romance could live in a world outside your favourite song but it will die in our fists because I am 21 and scared I never open my fists even as you hold them 

It will die and the world shall write a song about it

Our children will sing that song, 

And like silver blade it will cut their tongues

The song of hopeless love

It will cut th--eir words

Make them a victim of speaking through music and poetry

I do not wish to speak through music and poetry 

I wish to speak 

They will lose their words, their voice, their gun, they will close their fists and write letters that’ll never reach the mailbox.

 The end of the world will be a lover waiting by the door, watering the hope growing in the fist for years only to die in the hands of fate.

My nana, a victim of his own memory 

Did not get to say Goodbye to the woman he loved my nani

Amnesia saved him from waiting by the door, 

He met her eventually in the world of ever after but after how long, how late. 

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