“You think too much,” she tells me while
laying next to me,
her neck rolled off to the right.
Far from me,
her fingers absentmindedly trace down the billowing curtain
next to our bodies
by The Window.
next to our bodies
by The Window.
Wind chimes sing around her floating palabras
somewhere close by;
somewhere close by;
en La Distancia,
a car rushes past on the main street
the afternoon shadows of the palm leaves effortlessly sway.
the afternoon shadows of the palm leaves effortlessly sway.
“Life wasn’t made to be taken so seriously...”
She proceeds.
She proceeds.
I secretly think about why I think so much,
and if I Exist any other way
and if I Exist any other way
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