The past costs me my present,
for not phrasing my love for you.
To say is to promise;
and each promise made was always unmet.
And broken promises cause hurt.
Never to repeat the past,
I let my actions speak louder.
But my actions are never speak
loudly enough for you.
You prefer the phrases,
and so I did. But you said that it's too late.
I rather be late than dying with regrets.
Thus, my love for you doesn't know late.
Before time meets death, while the heart beats,
my lips wish to speak to you:
Every part and time of me love you.
And will you love me too?
Or am I still late?
- M. Safrain
