You left. So did the sun, Not long after.. But our conversations still seem to Fly in the air. The air, which we both breathe in. So I still remember The one when I asked you " What's the worst thing about love? " And you said that It makes you dependent.
So as now you are not here, I realised It's not that it makes you dependent. It's always the pain When it's no more And you can't do anything about that. It's like you had the sand But it slipped away. Like the water just dripped off.