There is also a truth about what we debate over the years
I may just write sad songs
It reminds me of our futile efforts
Also all the songs we heard together
That forces me to remember you
Why is love so complicated?
While out there, people are busy debating a new presidential candidate, looking for renewable discoveries about the nuclear physics formula, or an increasingly untouched technology.
While I'm still stuck in old love, old wounds
What is love? I still question it to my friends, who they just pretend to answer and pretend to know about it
Even though you have a new day, expect to be happy, even today, but at least you will be happy, even today only.
There is also truth to what we have been arguing for
Why we should meet, why we do not meet
Your life away from my life and my life away from myself.
We both struggled to wipe our memories, forget our memories, and we celebrated one night without rest, while we kept it tightly under the pillow, in the drawer in the closet, inside the stiff letters, every day we opened our eyes, everywhere in this city.
But you will go too. But you will come back too. But I also do not see you, but I am also not tired of waiting for you.
Can I see you with hatred? With a grudge? You say it is love, it is love that comes from my eyes, while it is a wound for me.
But I think there is some truth to what we have debated
You look thinner now, and you'll be happy about that. Your usually long hair is now cut short. But is there any difference, I can not buy it anymore. Feeling anxious that slid slowly from base to tip of hair and immediately I was caught with a finger belai. Does it make any difference?
You may not know how much I want to go back to being a kid. Passing day by day, year after year waiting to meet you.
Not in this period, which is completely different. Where every second, hour, day, time, century, time just separates you further from my longing. Each step just makes the wait more uncertain, making me wait that someday you will marry the person of your choice and the person who chose you. Wearing clothes that may be ordinary, maybe sparkling, but definitely happy. Stand side by side with a smile that stretches, or maybe a bit stifled by keeping tired at your feet, and serving the queue of visitors who want to shake hands and congratulate you, but of course you will be happy. And after that I will wait again, you will have a beautiful and beautiful child whose screams make your smile and tingle laugh, which whines your build up at night, which makes your sleep uncomfortable, but then again, you will be happy.
While I may still be busy looking for a way to forget you. As you know it's your last request to me. To continue living without you. To keep going and maybe even run. You know, this is the only one in life I'm most afraid of. Lonely. And we know we will be lonely in the end. But be calm, because I will always be busy writing about you. Or maybe I will not write again about you. I am writing to reach you, and I will never touch you. Because - apart from your loss - nothing worse than my life other than writing poetry, or I can write a three-page poem about you, or maybe thirty pages, or maybe a hundred pages, or maybe a thousand and nine hundred and thirty-seven pages for You just for you do not read, even just for you call me upset. Or say, "It's okay"
