I can see you every Monday at 11.
I’ll always be waiting on the platform to have the exact same train with you,
And I’ll accidentally touch your long hair,
I’ll have a thread and I’ll decor my diary with it.
On Wednesday 8, you’ll always be with your coffee and bring tons of boxes,
I’ll always save you so I sit on this train since 6 and I’ll offer my seat to you,
Could it be love?
Because all I dreamed about is your talking hair,
Pampering me with a shallow touch,
And I’ll always drown in those dreams,
Then I’ll always wake up feeling beautiful,
When I met you at a market,
I dropped my groceries around your foot,
And you kindly helped me with it,
This accidentally touching hands,
2 seconds of eye contact and I asked,
“Do I feel familiar?”
Your disbelief and treason feeling,
Your distance of fear as I explained how mesmerizing your hair were,
a broken and betrayed heart,
A heart with the need of move on,
So I come to your sleep and I cut your hair pixie.
I cut it and I bald your hair off
I cut it so we both fall into endless pain.
I’m saying goodbye so you can stop stalking my mind.