There is wind blowing through my hair,
There is a soft breeze of warm air.
Your hand griping mine,
On the other a glass of wine .

You have told me this story before,
About the day you layed on your bedroom floor ,
You told me that you were torn,
Your heart sore.

Now ,you are saying it different,
That you came out victorious,
That you have always been notorious
Nothing ever escaped your hold.

So I think about you,
I think about you and what about you is new,
Then I think that maybe it’s true,
Maybe you always knew .

My mind try to find the relation,
All this things you have mention,
Always with different tonations,
A new connotation .

It’s hard though,
You are like a mirage,
Or just a glittering glow
Of what was once a montage.

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