It feels as if it has been eternity
Peering outside at the forgotten land.
Similar to revolving doors,
People come and go.
Kisses are dispensed.
Stories are discussed in
Throes of passion,
And all the time
I just hate, hate, hate it.
I hate the stomping of their
Feet and the different music in our ears.
And somewhere in a parallel world
We are laughing
At all the hours we wasted
Giving deep kisses to eachother
In our forgotten paradise.