We are left with our memories,
Electric moments in our brains,
Waves, slaves to the wind,
We don't know when they rise, nor do they,
A fisherman dangles his hook and angles a fish out of the sea,
Oh fisherman, tangles my sentiments like a fish out of the sea,
As much as I miss the fish,
I wish the fisherman missed the fish,
But not to blame,
Cause this is the game,
Of which one of its rules is,
To play,
As simple as it sounds, it is not,
I live by, they people fade,
I say goodbye,
And it is sad,
That it is only the air,
What is moved,
When I waved,
Everything else stays the same,
Nothing magical or hopeful is to be,
Long as they are absent,
Takes only an electric moment,
For the wind to herd the waves to the shore,
And the tide is high again, as something in my throat,
Hard to swallow, hard not to swallow,
Much as I don't blame the fisherman,
I am neither able nor willing to halt those moments,
I know anyway,
He will bring the fishes out,
of my ocean of my memories,
I am moved,
My soul sheds drops of tears,
That's when I remembered,
When I waved.
