It's night, and I am on that valley we used to go, sometimes. The air is
fresh and quite warm, in spite of it's the beginning of Spring.
I'm sat on the grass, and I can see some little flowers that are closed,
now... They seem asleep as you, Dahlia.
Why did you go?
Why didn't you tell me you were going to leave, Dahlia?
Now I'm here alone, and I realise I did not have the time to tell you how
much I loved you, how much I cared. Why, Dahlia?
You know?, I would reach the hell and come back, if it could help me to
bring you back.
But now it's too late for me, and I can only heal my pain on Eleanor
Rigby's words.
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I'm a poet and dint know it!
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*dAPagan -- ~InterfaithInitiative -- *Apophysis -- *FractalDreams -- =ImagersFractalDDs -- ~DeviousFractals -- ~World-Club -- ~RosesAreFF0000
What in the name of Are You There, God? It's Me, Margaret were you thinking?
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