sometimes,
when i'm half-awake
and i think you're there
i start laughing
and grinning
in my sleep.
because when you dream,
your smiles are more pure
and uninhibited.
sometimes, when i'm dreaming
i think you're there.
and you're breathing on my neck
you would speak to me
about my memories.
the ones i don't remember so clearly,
and the dusk.
the moments that didn't make
any sense
but you had that clarity.
sometimes, i think you're there.
but you're not there.
you rest in my head.
you disappeared,
and you took me with you.
my lonely conversations,
with the dead.















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Thus does the Necessary Angel of the poetic
arrive to save the Angel of History
from dying of melancholy
in a suffocating world of ruins.
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