Tonight I write one of the saddest lines of my poem :
“O.. Longing who blows in the breeze.
Your inexistence perforated through desolation.
Spending time with you was too short.
When oblivion takes a thousand years.
Letting you go was the saddest chapter for this spring ballad;
It does still rain all night like the days before;
But it’s presence won’t be the same again.
At the end, I’m the one who cries.”