As the ******* of healing herb
that made the tomato melt in his embrace
forms a perfect circle inside my cup
I sit here reminiscing the warm winter nights
When we would talk of how
I would make you some soup
Every time your body lost a battle with the weather
I reckon how you would draw a reel of our happy future
I sit here in the present, replaying, analyzing the past
And I cannot find one speck of wrongdoing
That pulled you away from me
Why, then, am I seated here, alone
giving in to the changing weather?
The temperature is rising around
But I feel cold and almost empty
Filling myself with hope
And soup