There is a hunger in my eyes,
dreaming of the life we used to have,
but there are also puddles of stars,
weeping with memories
of where we have been.
Have I made a huge mistake
in letting myself cling onto
the brittle thread that remains?
How did the end of us happen so fast,
and why did the lightning have to strike us
so deep into the darkness?
Now there is nothing left of our story to be told,
just you and me on separate roads,
connected only by the ink and the Tipp-Ex
that erased us all away.
