Cliche
We were talking
About me leaving
For more than a month.
Almost six thousand miles away.
I'll miss our strange conversations,
Your funny, random remarks.
As sweet and innocent as a rose
with no thorns.
I'll laugh,
Remembering.
But I'll cry,
Missing you.
I know,
That when I get on that plane,
As soon as I turn off my phone,
I'll burst into silent tears,
Making sure no one can see me.
But I'll know,
That no matter what,
We'll see each other again soon.
And that rain of sadness will pass,
And happiness will gets its moment in the sun.
No matter how clihcè it all sounds
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