Hope is watering the plant and
I watch and wish that it'll grow.
When will I find out that the
seed is already dead in the soil?
I pull on that connection that is a
bridge across distance and time.
When will I find the other end
is only attached to the thin air?
You're standing there, I know,
with your arms wide open for me.
When will I realise that you're
only an illusion of my memories?
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