You kept my most precious.
And I wanted it back.
But I don't want to see you.
So I try not to care.
We met, awkward and tense.
We exchange simple words,
And you return it back.
Finally, we break, its no longer there.
Past becomes memory, present forgotten and spared.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Nice poem... but y hope?
Title changed.