Some people could spend almost their whole lives in dreams and none will ever find out anything about them. They live them alone, in their own fancies, leaving the traces of their imaginary past on some yellow sheets of paper, numerous diaries or blogs that no one visits. Some of us have very rich inner lives. Others are very poor. Talking about me, I remember everything. I remember every single day – the day I was born, the day I died, the day when I rised up again with the spring sun many years ago. Still the same tones from my radio wake up the same mood.

March after March
can’t delete the warmth
of your eyes

Linked to #NaHaiWriMo #march


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