The phone rings,
I don’t expect it to be you.
I’m right.
There is nothing new.

Three hours late,
the train is gone,
but it doesn’t have to be your fate.
I don’t have to move on.

Lie after lie is told.
I feel so tired.
It feels so old.
Our relationship is gradually growing mold.

The illusion of hope
you cast upon me with your lies
is like a rope
that binds my mind and leads to bitter cries.

You seem to hear my voice,
but your mind is closed,
and it’s your choice.
That door is locked, but I hope to find the key, and I might.
We’ll see.

Once more,
I’ll attempt communication.
Once more, I’ll pour
an elixir on the wound, attempting alleviation,
accomplishing only aggravation.

Please open your mind.
I want to share with you.
I want to discover together
faith in our familiarity.

I know in my heart
there will be no transformation.
I can read it on the chart;
I can see your path and destination.

Yet I cannot help but want you with me,
to send you my love,
and dream of being a priority.
Please let this pigeon be perceived.