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.”