Painting pictures in my memory
Of the way you used to look at me
The longing smile and the piercing belief
Eyes that used to hold a subtle smile
In the corner where they now cry
I would still hold for so much longer than a while
Kicking pebbles, flipping phones
Somehow we each ended up alone
With words I wish I did not own
Each wand'ring thought sits in between
And drags me back so stubbornly
As I try to walk by casually
Its wings once spread majestically
Its heart so full in bright morning
Does that dead bird still sing?
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