Believing the lie,
We go on pages after pages.
Write letters to the unknown,
Until the acknowledged ones diminishes.
We attempt to drive energy from smokes and liquors old and strong,
Incapable of facing the truth wearing the atire of sober for long.
Tantalized by a glimpse of what we might never see again,
We spend hours dreaming…
Blurring the crowd in search of an disguised face.
We miss the little funs gifted to our human lives,
While nagging for the presents that might not be addressed to us.
Waiting for the parcel that might never reach our doorstep
We miss the daily newspaper of our lives.