Time

You sent me your dreams,
and I sent you my doubts.
I was calming you,
yet, there's a "but"

Dreams are like a flower,
and they become oranges.
And the storms cuts it off,
pass it through another page.

You sent me stories,
I was reading them quickly.
I responsed quick as well,
whspered tenderly.

Stories are like gates,
that leads you to another existance in your life.
In the way you look,
at stuff.

You talked about the time,
and I didn't want to say.
That time is just imagination,
that you think of every day.

Time is like a race,
of cars or athletes.
Like an athlete, it is running,
who the one he beats? oh time…