Even though, each new dawn,
Is different,
The same sun always sets,
In the evening,
It's just an endless cycle,
A cycle of repetition.
Too quietly to be heard,
To softly too make a sound,
I bite my lip,
And I whisper...
...The last words that,
I miss the most,
Are the ones,
Saying not to be hasty,
Not for everything to be rushed,
That good things come,
To those who wait.
To look beyond the clouds,
To never give up,
I gave up once,
But I'm back again,
And soon,
I will be heading home,
And I won't be letting go.
The things I missed the most,
Were gradually becoming more distant,
I wondered if they would wait,
Wait for me to come back,
In the place of memories,
But I wondered for how long?
Although I can't really give it shape,
The thought is still inside me,
The gentle words,
That I left on that day,
And when I came back,
Everything was on the hill,
Standing there,
Just like when I left.
