you're not missing out if you're not the same person anymore,
all I know is I know nothing.

We were around eight when we first met,
With Innocence in eyes, unawareness of world,
Most of our day was with each other,
I thought we were inseparable.
Do you ever think of our bicycle rides?
Our first scooter ride,
Our first accident,
Our first fight,
Our long walks,
Our long drive with no destination,
when did it all turn into rumination?
My first real friend,
Things didn't really end well,
From strangers to best friends,
And from best friends to strangers,
Can't believe we lost it in haze.
Times when we didn't bury ourselves in phone,
Times when we climbed the terrace and fall on our own,
And then saw each other and start laughing,
With those bleeding elbows and knees,
I'll give my everything for that to be back,
But why is it all now in the memory rack,
Will things ever be where they were?
Will you ever be back here?
Do you ever think of me?
The secrets the gossips the lies,
Discovering new music and lose track of time.
A friend my parents trusted more than me,
Only for once let's set ourselves free,
Please comeback we'll climb again,
Hurt ourselves and laugh again,
Let's go for a long walk with no destination,
Let's take it out from our rumination.

I was lost and confused
under confident regardless
I chose myself

it belittles my heart, every single day
seeing the hate worthless as it may,
only if I could make my own little world,
where I wouldn't feel this and have a swirl.

I would have a little garden,
a house with a porch,
with a view of a beautiful gorge,
and a cat with a collar bell with the name tag Barden.

dreams, dreams, dreams,
a hundred dreams,
with an entire life to scheme,
just as it seems, it's moving really fast as a light or a beam,
with so much undone piled up like a ream.

This is not the end,
This is not even the beginning of the end,
My friend.
A fear,
I wear.
Heart palpitations,
Unfinished resolutions,
Words unspoken, feelings unexpressed,
Repressed.
What is it like being repressed?
Secrets, mysteries and lies.
Amongst it all where really does the truth lie?
Is something that's kept a mystery, just another manipulated secret?
Or is the secret one of the lies said frequent?
What makes it different?
Why does it feel resistant?
Efforts persistent to avoid indifference,
I can feel my inner resonance.
Speaking to me, about me,
Are all of my memories real?
Or a carefully webbed series of lies to heal.
Heal?
What's there to heal?
Or how many lies to shield.
Wield.
Wield such enormous power
And refuse to yield,
But when-oh when? do thing start to amend,
Will there ever be the end?