It Was year Two O One Seven,
Nineteenth of November.
He was singing.
You did cry.
"THIS IS FOR YOU"
You were confused.
Left you thinking,
Why?
What was that?
You did already left me, what are you doing?
You hid inside the box, sobbing.
When I was seven I always hear people whispering,
Talking About me.
Feels like a celebrity.
"Isn't that his daughter?" Yes i am.
Untold past keep bothering.
Why did you left?
You have someone else.
Leaving like we were just a toy.
Here I am sitting in a abandoned place,
Where everything started.
Leaving me confused.
Should I hate you or not?
I wonder, if do you still remember me.
