It could be a café and a sip of memories with cardamom’s flavor

It could be the road that we walk everyday and the static features being slugged on mind like purse of a little girl

It could be the people whom we see and still don’t know their names

It could be the book that extended to our souls

Or the events being flowered on seasons edges

It could be found in the content face of that old bus driver

Or in our beloved hands

Or the lips of whom became by the days our deepest dimension

It is what we possess and we afraid to lose

It is what we submerge our what is submerging us

It is rope being tied to our vessels so that not to disappear


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