She had been suffering,

The broken relationships

under the cracked memoirs

Bones almost plundered

With the fearful hopes,

anxious, doubtful all the way

 

So I slowed down a little bit,

With fragments of kisses

With delicate touches

of makeover trials

With the letters denote

something like love or etc.

 

Smell of nights,

music of movements

Written poems underneath

Like few lonely stars and

cupboard stories of heavenly bodies,

Not so useful yet essential

for the time being.

 

So, she lifted her hurting eyes

Like men on wary lands,

painful yet with some remote dreams

With folded arms and keeping space between;

Not for me, but to remember her story still.