It’s been a month since we last talk.
Months since we last took a walk.
Unremembered time since we talk about our folks.
We’ve lost it: the talks, walks and folks.
The nights were getting cold,
the days were never fold,
our story was never told
not even to the old.
You grow wide
while I’m in hide.
I wonder if you had cried
Or you just lied?
Did I cause you pain?
Or you thought of your gain?
Did you search me when you dine?
Or just let every cry be fine?
I tried to collect your lines
so when you’ll be back
you know I’ve kept the files
of stories I wish had last.