<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=485452" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Afternoon Musings 7</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">sometimes i miss a friend<br>who talks to me without knowing<br>what time is</div><div style="margin:10px 0">one who is carefree and freewilling<br>like the way we blow the bubbles<br>of soap and water in the air<br>when we laughed so loud<br>when we were those naughty children</div><div style="margin:10px 0">sometimes i miss the times<br>when we bathe in the river<br>naked with our innocence<br>plunging in the noise and the rage</div><div style="margin:10px 0">of the rippling waters<br>and not thinking about <br>what we are or who we are<br>or what do we become of ourselves</div><div style="margin:10px 0">i miss the times when we simply bask<br>under the sun to dry our wet tight bodies<br>when we close our eyes under such a strong light<br>and see the comfort of orangeness inside us</div><div style="margin:10px 0">i miss the times when we simply sit on the grass<br>on early afternoons watching the sun setting on the sea<br>waiting till it becomes dark when the stars come<br>like an array of friends to the full moon slowly</div><div style="margin:10px 0">ascending, and how all of them shine and though<br>so distant from us, they all appear to be happy</div><div style="margin:10px 0">in that glimmer and glitter, on that summer<br>many years ago before the coming of death & despair</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Ric+S.+Bastasa">Ric S. Bastasa</a><div class=q> <img src="https://www.citatepedia.ro/g/32share.png" style="float:left" alt="Share"> <script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=485452" data-title="Afternoon Musings 7 de Ric S. Bastasa" data-description="sometimes i miss a friend who talks to me without knowing what time is one who is carefree and freewilling like the way we blow the bubbles of soap and water in the air when we laughed so loud when we were those naughty children sometimes i miss..."></div> </div> </div>

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