for a goodbye.
The more you hide, the less it shown.
The less it shown, the more you think.
The more you think, the less it real.
Sometimes, what we need to know is not real enough.
The clear skies may cry.
Why is it used to?
The river may dried.
Why is it used to?
The answers may an omit.
Should I keep asking for what I've already known?
Thoughts is an unreal thing. Merely an abstraction, sometimes it's not the truth one.
. . .
Unlike any others,
my thought of you is real
while
the unreal from my abstraction:
your hello is my goodbye.
