I will miss you, one day
When I am 23; and the fortune tellers myths have been crucified
As I lie awake, staring at the crystal constellations
Moving to create your face in the barrier of life and death
One day, as the earth turns to rust
I will think of you, on my death bed withering
Stormclouds shall blow over the Fields, however the sun will be remembered
Now and again, with flashes of heat
Descended upon breakings and openings
The sunflowers shall question
If they have rooted incorrectly
However, the choice has been made
and we shall only revisit our discovery
When we are 23
