There is nothing we can do for those lost years; and there is no tomorrow.
We were bound to this state; We stole time from Venice's Sunshine, tieded to bridge after bridge.
We walked Venice...
We were able to love, in an infant past, planted in the fields that were ours, for hundreds of images; until a moment arrived before the Sunset in Venice; in one ill fated moment, past entered like a bold thief through a glance; as the present flew out through a single turn of your body.
The writer continues to write his narratives: We have returned...
