At the end of the day
What sort of bugs me
Are the moments that I miss,
Talkin to you.
Day by day goes by,
thinking about,
the things that are meant to be,
Or are not meant to be.
Was it the timing,
Or the ties we had,
All that matters,
Are the times we shared.
Thank you for the poem. Though making a poem is not your best, but that was sweet of you to make a reply to mine. :)
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