A year, ten years, a hundred years, a thousand years... Waiting without end is like a lifetime of scribbles.
Each day I voice you my regrets, Cause only you can understand my scribbles, Just as I understand yours.
Sitting next to your stone I realise my future has ended the day you left. I now cling onto our past, cherishing each moment, Allowing each day of my life torn asunder by our past.
Today I’ll try to write our story again, A story to represent our memories of old, To prove our love is more than a scribble, Like the way your voice resides in my valley of dreams.
Scribbling away I try to write a single line, Just one line at least to remember you by, Just one word to describe you with- But no, I can’t...
My memories are fading and a pile of scribbles. The last memory is a promise we made together, A promise to meet in the distant future. Perhaps when I die I will see you again…
Never able to truly accept you’re gone, I hold onto your promise like a senile old fart, I will wait for you this lifetime, And if I die I’ll wait for you in another lifetime.
Not knowing how long I must wait, My life’s turned into a pile of scribbles. But even so, I will wait on, I will wait on without end.
---------------------------- Any comments on how I can improve are welcome.
