Something he forgot, as if he were sleeping atop a stone tablet,
As if there was a veil over his gaze.
He knows nothing.
The imitation of sunshine itself could not, be as lackluster as his smile. Genuine warmth simply lingers.
Could he really not know?
He had a name, heard a voice in his mind. A person, dark as nightfall, near a waterfall. Desperately, clinging onto them.
Breathless and his heart shudders. And then nothing... Was that what they wanted?
This person struggling to --
repiece himself.
Julius's poems
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