“if your first love fails,
it’s not the last they say,
but i see my hands,
and i only see the past,
these same hands,
were the ones,
that wrote your name on pieces of paper,
hoping the ink would vaporize,
but your essence would still be present,
these are the same hands,
that used to shield myself from the mirrors,
whenever you came around,
these were the same hands,
that used to dream of holding yours,
interlocking in evident spaces,
but time passes,
and so does my hopes,
my hands stop dreaming,
and they start facing,
what’s real,
what’s possible,
my hands wipe away tears only,
on many lonely nights,
now tell me,
my first failed love might not have been the last,
oh but nothing hurts as much,
and some nights my hands wake me up,
just to remind me of something that i have lost,
that wasn’t even mine to begin with.”