The city sleeps. Only
remains the flickering streetlamp, reflecting upon the
dimly lit kitchen.
The
kitchen, reflecting the fatigue of the day.
The
kitchen, home to memories.
The
passion, kindled next to the range hood light.
The
wines, spilt in the vintage rug.
The
kisses, marked in my neck.
Now
the kitchen bears witness to the trash can full of
ripped-out pages,
the wet tears and
stacked-up dishes waiting next to the sink.
And a letter sitting by the
table.
The ink, all over the table�
The letter,
addressed to you.
Tonight, the night is about
you.
I go back to my roots.
I trace my steps, and all
roads lead me to you.
My whole life, it was bound
to be you.
So, what are you doing, my
love?
Come back to me.
We can fix this
The foundation of our love still remains
We can fix this
My broken heart can be mended.
I can fix this.
I swear I will forget all about that other girl.
Let me fix this.
Cause I desperately need you
It's just that now
I
can't even look at you.