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Nostalgia
Like pages of an old book,
Turning brown on the sides,
A confession seems to bleed,
From inside those empty eyes.
I wonder what chapter you are,
The beginning, middle or end,
Little by little this mystery grows,
And I can't help bury this sense.
© Oindrilla
Turning brown on the sides,
A confession seems to bleed,
From inside those empty eyes.
I wonder what chapter you are,
The beginning, middle or end,
Little by little this mystery grows,
And I can't help bury this sense.
© Oindrilla
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