Back in those school days,
Where we would be finding several ways,
Even the smallest excuse to bunk,
To escape all that classroom junk.
And it used to be so much fun,
Even to play under the scrotching sun.
We had our own secret places,
The same place where I found his traces.
Our special moments were in the library,
Those few periods felt so extraordinary.
Seeing me there he would drop by,
But too shy to look me in the eye.
A thousand eye contacts we still shared,
To approach him, I hardly dared.
Realised, very soon I wouldn't have him near,
After all, it was his school's final year.
Now the whole place seems dead,
These corridors where we once used to tread.
To bunk, there isn't that same will,
That empty seat in the library, who is ever going to fill?