I remember her hands on my shoulders,

and a whiff of her scent;

While James Bay played,

I wish to repeat the time spent.

I still miss the smile,

and those eyes, which looked right through me;

Searching for a heart, not one within a mile,

something I don’t remember having since I was three.

She predicted the rainfall,

looking at the clouds over the horizon;

Those which drenched us deep, I  recall,

While we kissed , you couldn’t kill me with a gun.

I remember shoes from Holland,

And the kiss at Mary’s island.

I remember lying next to her on the sand,

clutching tightly her hand.

It’s hard believe me, I do try,

Come in, but don’t forget the latch.

Look at me and realize, its almost impossible to grow,

An entire heart from scratch.


Published by: Jash

I write, taking into consideration the photographic memory of the various lives I've seen around me. What I write isn't only something time has shown me, in my life and others', but also a segment of lunatic imaginative ideas, fascinating ; yes, but also a sway from a daily ideal routine, for peace to those grey cells, which always try to accomplish the impossible, into a world where nothing is impossible...

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