Sat on a log of a broken tree
gazing the calm flow of the river
with the peeking Sun light
on the flowing rusty leaves
recalling the times spent,
fights fought, kisses she kissed,
with her half opened dreamy eyes.

I was not dead, Yet never alive.
Atleast not on the present.
My thoughts, that none cared.
Meaningless words to all, Yet
she was the all for me.

Now I sit, staring on the stream,
in solitude with my lost self,
with a vision of someone,
rubbing my fingerprints off of her.