...that place
called
Day... a poem is so very impregnated with love, a pure clean love, the one which often exists in a parallel world of our existence, the one who you sometimes see sitting on a bench, in a park, in a passing bus... A ghostly love, but so sweet...
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...that place called Day... a poem is so very impregnated with love, a pure clean love, the one which often exists in a parallel world of our existence, the one who you sometimes see sitting on a bench, in a park, in a passing bus... A ghostly love, but so sweet...