Perhaps it is the breeze, guilty no doubt,
of my emotions that make my skin bristle,
of my mistakes that dance aimlessly,
of the illusions that never came to be.
With its light and mischievous breath,
it moves the leaves of lost time,
where laughter and dreams danced,
and now they are echoes, shadows of what has been lived,
is a ray of sunshine that left without warning,
like a lighthouse extinguished in the distance,
slowly getting lost in the sea of loneliness.
Read next
From @chrisrobert