When I turn around
Tiny lights sit there, solitary
Hesitantly they linger there
Before long, they're dirty
Or things that are on the verge of collapsing
The more carelessly I deal with them
I wonder why I want to reach out
Memories that rush through my chest
Maybe the form is secondary
Why does the dawn glow stain me so?
What could be more than that?
In a corner of an untidy back alley
A flower bloomed as if it had no choice
I leaned on you, swaying in the draft
That you wouldn't touch the sorest place
Must have felt comforting
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Memories are supposed to be truly gentle
With feelings still tangled
They become a bittersweet, painful feeling
I want to be able to laugh at such things
Memories that race through my chest
Probably the form is secondary
Why does the dawn glow stain me so?
What more could there be?