Falling paper pieces


When it happens the first time, it soars
but it’s happened before
this feeling of synchrony
as we smiled and rode on by
but this time it was a bit different
making it a first time, again
it was the calmness
the quietness
the substance
that leaves you guessing
as we split paths
and think about each other for days
it’s like a white dove that’s set free;
it soars into the white clouds
when you wake up; it’s in a white dream
it’s like that when I look at the white skies
and feel the soft white falling paper pieces
rest on my summer skin;
remnants of you
will I ever find you again?
No
… yes

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