Strange, how I never saw you
For who you were
And you never saw me
For who I was.
But still.
Your elegant handwriting
Is imprinted in my mind.
Like leaves between the pages
Of a book that was left behind.
But still.
The sounds the keypad made
When I dialled your number
Ring as fresh and familiar
As the rhythm of my heart.
But still.
Your jibes, your taunts,
Your needs, your wants
Get drowned in the memory
Of your tinkling laughter.
Really.
Strange, how time can make
Hell seem beautiful
As if it were viewed through
Rose-tinted glasses.
