The smell of books, it reminded me of you. Pages burned, into ashes they turned. Flying pieces, like bits of my heart—shattered.
The most peculiar words we shared, that binded us, sent to cloud nine and taste the air.
Teardrops from the sky, rain came out of my eyes. Its amount you can't measure, as my love for thee, you offscoured.
Maybe I'm not sad, nor I am glad. It's the emptiness, I feel, every morning the thought of you set foot in.
