I’m sorry. I’ve been clumsy and shy.

The illusions you adored had withered and died

like the house we used to share between

the walls and wallpapers the silence became thin

and snapped into myriads of useless arguments

indulgence is something that love seems to hate

but hey! I have a spare century to waste

on idle promises and evenings filled with wine

wishing for you to be mine.

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