On my way back home on foot, the wind purged my thoughts. If only everyday was about popcorn and candyfloss, I silently wished. The years aged us a little, lived a little, died a little; only difference is that I've loved and remembered a little more.

You annihilated footprints imprinted by that 'warm bowl of soup' and created renewed space for 'pasta'.

It is her you wished your cheeks belonged to, but I'm still in hold of them.