A forgotten Love as I remember,
Where days passing by, together with the fragrance of a Jasmine, slowly disappearing,
And a lonely sunshine, in the dark face of clouds he hides,
How sadness poisoned the nerve, destroying hope and promises
I've been lacking responses towards my own stupid questions,
"Did she still looking at the sky and see my face fixed in clouds?"
"Did she still have that cup of a bottle, in such no reason I give that damn thing?"
"Did she still remember those stars, that each night we give them names?"
"Did she still have that pictures of the two of us? Or the lovely old old poems that I'd been written secretly while she fall asleep in my hips"
Definitely, I have no idea
The answers are yet blurred,
The puzzle is not yet in order, and I think...
Only time can make it.