bla

and there are no letters in the mailbox
and there are no grapes upon the vine,
and there are no chocolates in the boxes anymore,
and there are no diamonds in the mine... (leonard cohen)

the joy and the pain are gone now
still, the present stops and steals the time
so tiring to keep hating myself
for not hating you.

and there are no whispers of eyelashes
and no mornings staring at you sleeping
there are no sighs that can heel one word
one word that is goodbye.(me)