I woke up, and I was 26 years,
Still sited, waiting here today,
It's been eighteen hundred days,
Since you left without a turn nor a wink,
This morning the radio played your song,
How you used to dance at the first play of it,
Do you still gaze at the ceiling before dressing up,
I wonder if you still put that ponytail hair style,
Hope still you dip bread in your milk tea.


I wonder if you still love color purple,
Though you knew best I hated a purple twist,
Or did you change to loving my color grey,
Cause the last time I checked, your outfits were grey,
I wonder if still you laugh when my teams' beaten,
And cry when an author kills your favorite character,
Are your cycles still on twenty-thirds to twenty-sixth,
Do you still sing under the moon with a silent glare,
Hope you still remember the last name I called you,
In the last poem I wrote about you, before that night.