It’s almost July

May, spring shattered. June, ideas sprouted from a distracted mind, die and be reborn. Cars flowing in a jubilant city, life continues with or without my will. I’m asking them what they want, they tell me, keep it going.

Sleeping in the field, the agony passed away. Light apeared, it came for a moment. I’m a single soul again, but not empty nevermore.

May, wakefulness, them. June, it’s over my dear. Silence is the greatest of prudence and also the bigest cowardice. I’m broke inside, but it’s almost July.

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