Moonbeams and sunsets never seemed so sweet,
With dew washing over grass blades
Nightengales sing softly, whispering
Secrets of things that never keep.
Jeans turn cool as she sits and stares,
Looking into a distant future that remains unseen
Doors have closed without windows opening
People always leaving, so it seems.
Dreams occur of happiness- -probably…
Maybe…
Eventually…
Euphoria might happen- -a probability.
But for now, on a hilltop…
She’ll sit staring into the darkness.
The sun having set and just…
Focus on trying to breathe.
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