more questions…

everybody is

leaving hints

and

making excuses

the suitcase is

in the hall

again

while

an oligarch

sings about

leaving

it’s green

outside

of my window

the color of

dreams

the perfect

mixture of blue

and yellow

of the sun and

the sky

the hope of

tomorrow

drawing nearer

the promise

of a new love

closing in

like thundercoluds

in retrospect

this will all

make sense

the one-two punch

will not have been

in vain

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