All the rain that poured down during those summer weeks were not a sign for what was about to come. It’s just the sky giving back the water it had for lent.
Turmoil in the backseat. My daughter strapped with red bites on her legs and screams out loud. The scratches and lotions does not help a damn thing it seems.
Where’s the sun hiding? Not in on our heads or behind clouds.
It went to sleep and it got quite cold. It’s like it’s telling us you got what you deserve.
Mosquito bites. Smoke in the cabin. A bottle of champagne.
Spitting toothpaste on the ground. Things makes sense and others not when you’re around.
It’s time. It’s here. The sky is finally clear.
Dismiss. Enhance. This here might be our last chance.
It hurts. It burns. But that is none of my concern.
Pale skin on your thigh. You asked me what to apply.
Asking questions that don’t have answers when you’re three. That is mine and that is yours. Why is that? Who said what? Was it true or was it not?
All the rain that poured down must have been a sign.
The autumn stepped right through the door, kicked it in and did not even apologize.
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