I walked in the grey
Right after waking up.
In the unlate hours
Passers-by were
Stolid effigies of fog.
It was too early to feel.
Stories were being woven.
Paths were being carved.
Whether my eyelids were close
Did not matter much.
I walked in the grey of that day
Knowing full well the only light to be had
Was that which she would shine on me.
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