I admit, I’m not really good at goodbyes,
not really a good man, either, and I’m tired.
Between every teardrop are your memories
I’m letting go,
and even if tomorrows might be forgotten,
I would never forget you.
I have loved you, and it was vivid and pure,
but I have to wander my world, and explore.
I’m tired of your self-seeking decisions
which could always lead to loud confusions,
tired of every cold war and of every hurtful word.
It might be the ending for us,
but indeed, a beginning for ourselves to wake up
a morning with a smell of a new mown hay;
maybe it’s best, if I walk on another way.
Well, sometimes you need to learn
how to be broken,
in order to be whole again.