I’m sick of lies we’ve been told,
that love is like the morning sun,
or a cold breeze in a warm day.
I unlock the room where you used to be
waiting for me with a million-dollar stare.
I can’t help but feeling mournful
when I wish to be hopeful
that one day we’ll be under the same stars
until wrinkles fill our faces.
Love is the wind in a cold day,
the sun covered by the clouds,
a distasteful sweetened tea,
when you’re not here to sweeten me.