This is the is the end of something that never began

from the eyes of an old man who never saw his children again

from the forgotten generations

the assembly of hearts not broken but intact, left numb

from a mother's prayers at the airport, the plane that never landed

from the strong soul of a woman, who didn't feel at ease with love

the kid who received his wrapped gift, a broken toy

this is the book I didn't read or write, it's made to live in the back of libraries,

forgotten and dusty

the mountains wink in the heart of my window, I know too well,

they have never been hiked, or felt before,

but once were full of greenery, windy spots to feel embraced and watch the city this time, from your eyes

because this is the beginning of an end to my hopes

I stop painting and let the colors to mold