With every step that we move
I hold your hand a little stronger than before,
And a little more effort goes into matching those footsteps
And reading the words that are wished to be spoken.
In anticipation and expectation another evening rolls by,
The anxieties rise and the pulse intensifies.
I try to be calm to push away the blow.
I know its coming, if not fast then slow.
The down seems fresh and the dusk, nostalgic.
It has always been this way and it, once again, is
“If they come, they will go”- I have been told this before.
But the ballads will always be for the memories tomorrow
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