I remember the coach we used to take morning and evening
The dirty hand grips that went unnoticed
And half an hour of intimate conversation missed
I recall the table we sat when we second met
Then I sneaked on to it
Took careful sip out of my morning coffee
Oh, how you stain my memory.
I cannot forget that girl who had fallen madly but silently
She could cry, she could give up everything.
And that was the story, my dear friend.
Story of finding, embracing, fighting and letting go of a muse.
was the story of you...