My heart is a drifter and these words are feelings that snowflakes cover while the year is packing.
They say the illusions that we have of what might be left still breathe there.
Your heart is a mystery but does not know that a lonely spirit cannot find its freedom when the illusion that you have of what might be left still breathes there.
All that we love are moments of distant ideas.
All that we need is just an illusion to breathe.
I will be finding you on the highest bridges although the leaves have fallen since September.
And the illusion that I have of what might be left still breathes there.
And all the voices that we hear in silence;
hidden images in shades of dark green.
They are illusions that we have of what is left for us to still love.
I invite the past to loom and there is nothing to embrace.
As you are an illusion too, and what is left for me is to breathe it out.
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