Some days,
When I'm not with you,
I turn a page,
I turn it backwards.

Each turn,
I thirst for more,
To get to know,
'what was' from before.

Guilty, I am.
From doing this,
For each page equates,
a selfish turn of mine.

Some parts,
the imperfect ones,
I embrace it all,
All black and white,

Hoping that,
when tomorrow comes,
Soon we'll see,
Nothing but rainbows.