Could be a fire

You turn again back to the noise in your past, there is like thinking on you deeping me looking blind some light to put to shine again your beauty. You turn again to the forest growing up with your shadow. Maybe, I should not move, perhaps, I should run to you. Inside me fight a perception against the space you not take. Burn the forest and ashes cover the mood of living. You turn to cry by the plants standing grey on the ground. Paradox fly the tree after the death. Tired retires the fire, devastating, devastated, fading quickly, hidding with the darkness of the night, as if they never exited.