Perhaps it is so much to ask,
probably impossible,
possibly it would not be —
for you to be mine again;
your smile because of me,
your hand touching mine;
eyes to eyes
without nothing to say
but for us to stay
what were once,
what were to be,
if given a chance.
And if there is nothing left for us
to turn into ash,
I would burn all the bridges —
the paths that connected our hearts.
I would wreck all the walls that we built
for our securities
that turned into a haunting prison —
a dungeon of insecurities.
I would forget you —
but for now,
let me try to save the single spark;
let me dry the last drop of tears,
if there is something to be burnt —
lest we regret for years,
that is what I forever fear.
