murmurs on a tuesday evening.
a story must be some day told:
how were the roses there?
were they like the moon on the mountains?
or a summer's eve without sound.
if a breeze then a whisper.
please don't say any more.
...we've been dreaming too long.
tonight she waits in her garden,
for the stars to shine again.
why don't we pretend for now?
and a friendship passed like lost art.
sven.
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