Poetry really
is in the streets.
Together with you,
we make it more
colorful,
vibrant,
alive.

We would travel
the roads
with our bikes,
the current of the wind
against us.

We would take
photographs of
the people,
the buildings,
the trees,
of each of us.

We would make
stories and poetry
about them.
Like the streets,
we were so
alive.

Our happiness
in those streets
were like the stars
we used to watch
every evening
on the rooftops.

They were
infinite,
sparkling,
shining, and vast.
Until one day,
we stopped wandering.

Instead,
we started wondering.
What if we can
go out of those streets?
What if we can
be happier?

So you say one day
we’d travel
the whole world.
You say we’d make
poetry about
all the streets
we’d discover.
You say we will do that,
together.

But it seems like
the streets lost
some of itself.
It lost hue.

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