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The sound of rain now,
so soft on the snow –
almost like silence.

little things

there is something about
train platforms on a sunny weekend

full of unseen little

a tough-looking young lad
clinging discreetly onto his girl's coat
her hands comfortably in his pockets

an older lady
leaning a bit too forward against her partner's figure
looking up and saying
(wishing only
a few more silent signs)

unseen rivers of hope
streaming down human cheeks

the same flesh and skin
that smiles at a lousy joke -
a cheeky little bedside pun
from a lover's memory of long ago.

the same cheeks that feel the slight changes in the wind
as one looks around from the top of a high hill
one used to climb as a kid

and here is wildness
an unexplored, unexplained part of human tears
unexpectedly finding its way on the concrete ground
of the platform
separating, for now
her lips
from his
as that moment goes by
and that one
and that one.

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