The End Poem by A Waltz For Zizi

You've been peeking into my soul
and said nothing.

I'm not mad, it was my gift
to you, these pages.

They hold the time I lost
sprinting after you

the pens I blunted, the ink that dripped
the stories of you

siren that sleeps on the tip
of my pens.

I've blunted you, your lips.
I'm mediocre.

I've made ashes of you.
I said stories

not for the strangers that
didn't know you

I said them for my own stupid ego,
for myself.

I wanted you to breathe, to move
to tell me jokes again.

'When I was a child, my speech was that of a child.
My feelings and thoughts too were those of a child.
Now that I have become a man, I part with the child-like ways.'