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4 a.m.

it was always winter

the bitter breeze would pierce our skin

and our bones would shake 

with the cold within 

at that bench covered in white 

where the silver fog of January

would mix with the breeze

and you would ask me between breaths 

that turned the end of the poison 

into a flame that coloured you red

if Paradise was always lost so fast


it was always four a.m.

we would look up at the stars

and watch flakes dance under yellow lights

and fall to melt onto us

my mind desperate to relearn your face 

your gaze would follow my laughter lines

and find the drops on my cheeks

and you would ask me with a voice numb

so soft and brittle

that I could barely hear

if spring would ever truly come


it was always dawn

with a lilac sky and a white silence

we had not enough hope but too much to wish for

naive and trying to outrun cruel Time

our boots would slip on the unlit roads

and we’d stop to pant against a tunnel wall

hiding from nothing in the dark

and you would turn with your heart beating against your chest

and ask me between erratic breaths 

if everything worth living for was killing us much too fast

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