Throughout time
how am I supposed to distinguish
dreams between reality?
You left me at only the small age
of 18.
I was only 16.
When I am 50, you will still be 18.
How can I tell stories of you
if I don't even know if they're real?
Death is a strange thing.
One second you're next to me, smiling.
The next day
you're lying flat on the ground,
oozing blood to all that surrounds.
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