Wanderings: Life And Poetry

Last July

I drive around the roads, crossing some lines.
I remember how it was before
when you were still mine.

I would glance to the side,
hoping to see your face.
A part inside of me died
when I couldn't feel your embrace.

I drive around streets, hoping you're there.
I remember how it was before
when you still used to care.

I couldn't help but think about
the time you said goodbye.
The wet roads became too drought
when you left me last July.