It’s sad to be a lover today. Our letters are mails, Our calls, texts. I wish I loved you back when letters were the real deal. I’d keep all of them safe, and wouldn’t fear them getting ‘deleted’. I would’ve smelt them, for your beautiful hands would’ve touched them. I would’ve traced each word with my fingers, for your heart must have whispered each phrase. I would’ve kissed them, thinking I’ve kissed you, for you must have spoken the words out loud. And I would’ve held them close, thinking I’ve embraced a part of you. It’s sad to be a lover today.
If you’d ask me whether I miss you, I’d say I don’t. But just sometimes, when I’m looking at the setting sun, My eyes well up — And my heart aches for your presence beside me. But, no, I don’t miss you all the time. I’m being honest. Just sometimes when I’m ready to run away from everything I think of your arms, that I’d want to call home. But I really don’t miss you, For life’s busy and life’s fast. Just sometimes, when time is flying by — I close my eyes and hope to see you smile.