Let us walk through the old city alleys and tell each other stories of how our lives have been, stories of the heart and head, of what was and what might never have been.
And no regrets, no, no regrets. It wasn’t and it wasn’t and that is how it was. No regrets, no tears, red sunsets beautiful as the rising sun, the summer noon has been and gone and now you hold my hand.
White wall old city alleys, we stop and look up and smell the dust and smile at the swallows in the line of blue. Hands softly tighten, fingers lock gentle.
And the stories we are telling we shall tell forever.
