It comes a time when the last 10, 20 years invade your thoughts,
and make you wonder what if.
And there have been so many different ways, roads, infinite
possibilities.
They make you wonder whether you were supposed to be right here, right
now,
or whether you took a wrong turn on the way.
And the place where you were supposed to be couldn't be further away,
and gone forever.
You wonder if there's still time.
If one time you'll see them again, lost people in space, and they'll
recognize you,
or will they pass by you as strangers,
despite them being your life a decade, perhaps two ago.
In a hundred years, none of this will matter,
or will it make all the difference?
How do you know whether you were supposed to have let them go?
How do you know whether it would have worked out if you had tried
harder,
said the right things, or kept silence?
Who's writing our stories?
Right now I feel so lonely
that I hand in my pen.
Will you write it for me?
Because I just don't know.
Too many regrets, wrong turns,
hoping it will all make sense one day, fall into place.
When I can look into your eyes; recognise you.
You that came to stay (a little late),
the one that will justify the last 20 years,
the tears, the fears, the years.
