I wrote my stories.
I wrote my songs.
But now it's all gone.

Only a few traces are left in my mind,
Where I've stashed them away
Like a storybook,
Labelling each and every page.

Now it's time to flip through those pages,
And think tenderly of the past.
To remember who I used to be.
To reminisce bitter-sweet aches of my heart.

It's time now,
To pull down the curtains
To reveal the canvas I created
With various colours in the palate.
As many more stories and words
Are remained unfinished and unsaid.
• • • • •

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