What are friends?
Are "friends" just specks of moments shared,
times when you feel cared
for or are they real persons?

Do friends make you cry,
make you feel hated,
wonder if this was an end belated,
or are they just the good smiles and laughter?

Do friends leave,
or are they forever?
Do they remain a part of your life
even though you're a traveler?

Why do we have to give up? Why do we have to move on?
This so-called action of maturity, of dignity, of practicality,
Wiping years and tears as though they were far gone,
Refusing to let anything hurt just a little too slowly.

But isn't that sacrilegy?
Killing something sacred for the sake of an easier way,
A ****** of moments, reducing "friends" into just a diluted memory,
Tossing trust - mutual trust - into that pile of yesterday.

When we separate, when we fly to different corners,
When decades go by and all we have left is the past,
Are those still friends, or are they just matters
for the lonely heart to ponder on how it went by so fast?

I never thought my heart would ever come to this place
where doubts are shadows and the only lights left are two
really bright ones, but so many have flickered dead,
out of space,
What used to be a burning room of blue.