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?