Days and days pass, buds bloom into flowers, they grow into a love, pluck them like stars, but they fade out,

Their night is longer than stars and in our case; we can’t ever seem to find the reflection of the sun rays on our face

The bouquet of crimson roses wilt in the absence of truth, I lay on my bed, sorting out the messes where my hands lay guilty,

Counting out my faults and slashing out the expectations I branched out from spring and summer

Millions of seconds spent throwing words around like cars smashing into trucks,

We were both careless drivers of this galaxy that we called ours,

Forgive me dear lover, I never had the water in me to pour to the seedlings,

Our kisses bled into accidents, and you were never a fire-fighter

Days and days passed we gave into pain just for the sake of what our past is made of,

Distance bit us, poisoned our veins with plague and our hearts wilted like the roses you used to give me every day,

But I never pressed our love the way I pressed the roses in the art books.

The sun grew away; we were left deserted in the tunnel without calendars and time passed us by,

Motionless we grew; winter came in and never left, but here we are waiting for the trains,

For the final parting that was due a long time ago.