To the love that’s supposed to find me eventually,
I’m right here, waiting for you,
counting down days until I’ll finally get to see your face.

Maybe you’ve lost your way to get to me,
but then even I can’t help you;
how can I when I’m still trying to find myself in this chaos.

I’d set out to far off places looking for you,
if only I was a little braver,
instead I chose to sit by the window waiting for you to come.

To the love that’s supposed to find me eventually,
I’ve made some coffee for you,
and it’s getting cold. Hurry up and meet me, will you?

hour after hour had gone by in
lingering around the bookstores and cafés

but that one time you smiled,
it was worth the wait and nothing else mattered.

night after night we sat together
weaving stories that made no sense at all

but that one time you smiled,
it was worth the wait and nothing else mattered.

day after day is passing away, slowly,
somehow not failing to make you a part of it

but that one time you smiled,
it was worth the wait and nothing else's mattered.

we don't know if there'll be one
more story or one more ice-cream for us to share

but that one time you smiled,
I wish you knew this, for me
it was worth the wait and
nothing else will ever matter again.

There's a circus in me
that your eyes cannot see.

Sometimes I wear a smile as
make up to cover those tear stains.

Sometimes the mind plays tricks
on me and I surrender to it as a slave.

Sometimes the heart breaks into pieces
and I make it look like another work of illusion.

Sometimes the soul deviates to seek an evil
and I let it play with those rings of fire.

Sometimes the body wears out and says no more
but here no matter what, the show goes on.

Sometimes I play the part of the joker and
sometimes I simply am the audience.

This happens everyday at the circus in me
that your eyes cannot see.

And when I write about you each day,
I wonder how easily the words come to me.
As though they flow from the heart, silently
like the placid waters running down the stream.
All these years I have filled the pages with
your thoughts written in an indelible ink.
I promise no greater power in this entire
universe can dare to erase these stories.
Built on the foundations of my imagination
is this palace made of the sentences that I wrote.
Carefully stringing the pearls onto an invisible thread,
I have created this fictional world around you.
But how much do I really know you, and
what if all this is a mere illusion?
If you turned out to be someone different and if
my imagery drifted from the reality, what then?
Sure a part of me would be disappointed
and even angry with myself for hoodwinking.
Yet, for the happiness of etching your name on
my memories, I will never cease to write about you.

Somewhere across this planet,
there are people thinking about you.
You might not know them, they
could be anyone from anywhere.
At this moment, as the sun brightens your day,
you were seen smiling in their dreams.
And when you close your eyes to sleep,
they will wake up and write about you.
They may not be great poets, but
you have already become their poem.

There is a certain beauty to this uncertainty of life.
Everything becomes predictable in its own unpredictable way.
It all begins at a point where something comes to an end.

Infinite memories are the only measures of our finite time here.
Dreams are the only weapons that we've got to fight the reality.
Everyone roams with a map, but no one knows the right route.

Whatever seems to be within our reach is still too far from us.
Yet, we write a new story each day, while someone else has already finished our lines for us.
There sure is a certain beauty to this uncertainty of life.