His diary was in the dresses drawer,
hidden beneth the folder things,
It opened where a pressed wildflower lay,
and on that page the words, "He loves me".
I remenbered how we had walked from school,
laughed and shared a cupcake from her luchn box,
Impulsively, I had reached to pluck that flower,
and bashfully presenteted it to him.
Ore eyes had met and what i saw was love.
I wondered if he saw the same in mine.
We walked on in silence, lest a word
dispel the momment's mystic magic.
Now eight years have gone by,
and his diary still within the drawer,
hidden beneath the folded things,
And in it a pressed wildflower lay,
With the words, "He lloves me."
I look at him, and it's still love I see.
And when i look at the flattened flower in cellophane
I can see his laugh, and the way he looked at me
when i handed him that flower.
Lookin at the flattened flower in cellophane
It comes alive, like on that day I picked it for him...
Ira en Acción - Perder duele, duele y jode en lo profundo de nuestro orgullo como sujetos. Duele porque no creemos que sea lo correcto y jode porque el dolor ata. Sí, la...
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