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viejo y arrepentido

Mis ojos se pierden en el paisaje marchito, en las viejas flores que susurran recuerdos, el dolor punzante de lo que no fue, de aquello que pude haber hecho. Rozo los pétalos, y se deshacen en mis manos. Extraño el ardor en mis ojos al ver sus dulces colores, ahora apagados en el olvido.

Copyright © | Year Posted 2025




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Book: Reflection on the Important Things