She doesn't miss me?
I mean why?
Can I call her mean?
Or should I tell myself that being unlucky is in my gene..
There was a time when I was her guide,
There was a time when I was her pride,
And there is a time now when she just kept me aside.
I miss those times when she used to call me her prince,
And her cute smiles that I used to win.
I miss those endless phone calls,
And sweet talking that we used to share resting against the walls.
Not sure if she even remembers my name.
But she crosses my mind 100 times a day,
Not sure if she still has my contact in her phone,
But her voice is still my phone's ringtone.
We were among the lucky,
As we used to call our-self the perfect two.
I will be waiting for a day to see,
Where I can again use we instead of me.
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