Why should it matter anyway, the fact that I can’t go on
When you are already long gone and a mere memory now
Yet, I am still here in the middle of the night and writing
As if it would make a difference, as if it would bring you back
Why you left me is nothing to wonder about, not a mystery to solve
I was just a hopeless romantic, thinking you were mine
You were never even close to me, just a wandering ghost
Why am I forcing still?
I have come to the realisation of my love toward words just as I have lost them. There are only a few words left now and I’m keeping them in my fists. If they leave me too, I don’t know what I will have left other than my tears
And the mere thought of you.