Am I stucked to the same old page of a withering book?
Has our story ended, why have I hopes?
But you go on forgetting me, maybe hating me,
why didn't you just explain?

Everytime I read a poem I wonder what would you think,
or if you cry reading unsatisfying,sad ends.
And I'm hiding behind my dusty glasses
while you're a step in front of me in a running over-crowded bus,
not greeting like we've never met before.

Because I miss you that's why I can't form a proper friendship
and people leave, like you did, inexcusably.
Maybe I only miss those idealised memories,
or need someone who understands all of my aspects like you used to.
And they'll keep the promises I believed in.

What if I'm stuck to you calligraphic inscription in a tiny note?
Do you still read those five pages letters?
Do you remember them? Do you remember me?
Are we complete strangers again?