a treehouse

the riverbank
of my consciousness,
the treehouse of my solitude
where I can’t see myself.
I sit & watch
sailboats of my memories,
they’re randomly moving,
taken by the turbulence.
only You see the pattern
in their chaotic movements.

I won’t get down.
I won’t immerse myself into the river.
I will never blow into the motley sail.
I will sit & watch.
Until you’ll call me.

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4 thoughts on “a treehouse

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