A poem was born,
When I saw this path:
Years from now, in the winter of our life, when you come back, we will walk here. Hold hands, again. Talk about the colour of our soul or may be the texture of pain that kept us apart all these years. We'll talk about what happened to that little dream cafe of yours. It wont be a "hey let's get a beer" conversation! We'll talk about the shooting stars of our endless journey. All this, without a word! In the winter of our life. When you come back.