Simple life is all I long for.
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Simple life is all I long for.
In old pages, I find forgotten skies
A thousand unread letters press against my ribs, aching for air
Days spent having picnics and picking flowers
We often tell people to stop and smell the flowers. Yet, no one stopped and feel the earth.
Let the dust settle into poetry.
Somewhere between dust and candlelight, I became a part of the story
Put a little green in your life
Apron strings tied to chapters unwritten
Old books stitch the quiet together — their pages heavier with every lost year
Dust smells sweeter when the stories are sleeping
In broken spines and dog-eared corners, my hands gather the ghosts of dreamers too stubborn to forget