A rose, a book, a bracelate and a card:
That's all what's left and waiting is in vain.
You'll soon forget and I will fall apart
In love with growing loneliness and pain.
Not new, not fresh, not clever and not numb:
I'm still believing miracles exist.
One day, in Paris maybe, I will bump
In you, in love, in past and I'll insist:
Just feel, just touch, just love me one more time.
It was mistake, you'll understand it too.
But noone's here, just one more glass of wine,
And back to dreams of maybe seeing you.
Ml
© Copyright: Олеся Максименко, 2012
Свидетельство о публикации №112030105246
Свидетельство о публикации №112030105246
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