You will soon forget the songs, the lyrics to it, the music the singer and the band.
You will forget the feelings the touch and the way your heart skipped a beat.
You will forget their voice, their annoying voice you thought you'd never get out of your head, the way they sing those songs you pretend to hate.
Forget the imperfect harmony, the little jokes the way they walked when they are together.
Their handwritings, their favourite shoes and the dresses they never got to buy.
The numbers and the date will become insignificant.
And those places disappears one by one, Taman Mac, Harris at basement, theatre 2 in Jp Golden Village, the ice skating rink.
Forget their smize.
Forget their smize.
The way they called your name.
The way you laughed at theirs.
Photos disappeared and numbers changed.
The last message went to junk mail.
People vanished, names forgotten.
Completely, like 'we' never existed
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