I was about…

Again a sort of apology arose to my lips,

I was about murmuring an apology for crossing the road of your heart,

I didn’t mean to.

Days turned to be desolate,

An the only thing I was hearing were the earthquakes of your soul,

Longing for my eyes !

From the ajar window,

I could smell the good taste of music,

Fluttering from the cream curtain,

Whispering your thoughts.

It is that kind of voice that my ears follow,

Up and down,

As if, each speech is an arrangement of notes,

That will never be played again.

Again a sort of apology arose to my lips,

For feeling all of the earthquakes,

And the greatest exhibition of art ,

I was about murmuring an apology for crossing the road of your heart ,

I didn’t mean to.

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