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Tonight the ink will stain my last metaphors. You will pick the long foregone phrases of mine , and for one last time mask those wounds that your pen has done . You will no more carry your beautiful  daydreams and paralyzing nightmares in my arms. I will slowly escape from your volatile thoughts and pass into that infinity that even you are unknown of only to be found  in another shadow of you. And underneath this spell of solitude, neither of us will know when we dissolve into each other because A Writer and it’s Poetry can never fall apart.

Though I am your last poetry that you want to hide behind the dairy.

The poetry whose rhythms you want to ruin forever tonight.

But you will return to me again.

Because life can betray you but literature will be the author’s forever soulmate.