Why aren’t things the way they used to be?
And what is it that you saw in me?
You used to be overflowing with passion
Your every word,
In such an intense fashion.
To the little girl I once admired?
The one who lived every day
As though it was her last
And never tired.
I asked her one last time
Would telling me be such an atrocious crime?
Indeed so, for she paused thoughtfully
Before leaving me with this-
Memories are a bliss.