Sunday, 16 April 2017

Postscript

So many crossed paths
And aimless wandering around in the past
There are those strangers
Who were once your very own
Out of the crowds suddenly one day
You see them coming, and when you blink
They've turned right around and are walking
Away
Impolite polite ways of pretending you never once were

I'm not waiting for you
I'm waiting for me