8:21 AM

The ink traced on paper ended up fading with desire.
Love didn't knew how to conceive a happy ending between us.
Despite the attempts and hopes that have been put into operation.
Things are fading; like the past.
When the author is no longer inspired, since his story is now forgotten.
Abandoned by doubt, only the imaginary to escape from the pages.
When reality is found inanimate between the pages of a reverie. 


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