Joana. Small leaves of a thin matter
Flow entangled in the wind
That pushes them and rips them to tiny fragments of themselves
And culminates them to form infinite question marks
The wind is ruthless and passionate
And pulls the strings of its puppet
Leaving, staying
Departing, returning
It will never cease
It has never commenced
You take
And then you give
Shove me
To then hold me again
In repetitious movements
Under the same situations
And the cycle never ends
As it never has begun
I smile
Until the words will fade into nothing
And become symbols of the pain
Of something I don't want to get rid of
Don't wake me up
Not yet.
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