Glad that mixtape got lost on that bus.

Just like we lost the trust.

How does having favourite music together would help?

When our rhythms hit on the wrong part of the chorus,

While you're stuck at the prelude, I am trying to cover the bridge all alone.

And alas, in attempt to resolve the gap, my favourite beats don't resonate with your heart.

When the couch looked in a bad shape from jumping and screaming those nights on our favourite bangers together,

To my surprise, love was ugly, yet lovely.

But sometimes you will just leave unfazed by your silent treatment towards me and the couch.

The music was loud enough, but it was suddenly muted as it went on.

The couch felt like it was never used, and that's what happens with silence.

It's lethal yet clean. Parting ways could be that swift and surprising, like a sudden pause in the middle of a song, how
mean.

When I was engulfed in my own preferences of LP and EP I wish I could hear you screaming SOS.

And sadly or happily, as you would like to interpret, a lot has changed on my Spotify playlist since you left.

We used to break down the lyrics and personalise them as our immortal promises.

As a third person, I see these things painfully to realise we often crumble on wrong definitions and that what is petty cannot be divine, just like the vows we prepared for the isle.

And that's not me paraphrasing our last song together. Lately, I have been hating listening to lyrics. I just turn to instrumentals now.

And somewhat they pain me more, perhaps another surprise to realise. But it felt like I was getting punished for torturing a mute child by looking into those eyes. And that lyrical silence in rhythm too was lethal yet clean.

And the day you come back,

Let me know so that I can take vocal classes to sing my apology letter.

Make sure you find that mixtape I lost,

From the bus, I took to rewrite my anthem altogether.

From the bus, you left to start loving another song...

.    .    .