When memories fade and voices die…
When all the warm thoughts are gone,
Love itself shall just slumber on…
True pleasure is in still carrying on,
Waiting and longing for the love to return,
I knew I would fail, I knew you won’t take me on bail,
But what is love without some stories, of some miseries and some glories?
From where I stand now, I see no point in looking behind,
Is it really so colorful, or am I just colorblind?
On a poetic note,