In the evening sun we basked,
and when the night comes,
nothing was but reduced to cries.

We used to be the stars,
you were my star;
I was your sky.

The wind rustled our hair,
that peace which engulfed the cold windy night
neglected my care.
Our love was destined to die.

Maybe everything was a mistake,
maybe we were shouldn't be.
When things became alternatives,
the best way was to take your leave.

I was drunk by my tears,
confused with my dreams,
my screams within went soft cries.

For days a drunkard,
months a loner;
years a better me.