How do I miss the days that never came?
A life never lived
Just some scattered memories, here and there
Real or feigned, what difference would it make?
Aren’t all memories made up in a way?
Especially the ones that refuse to go away
Say what of the past or future, it’s all just a dream, I dreamt anyway
Just a feeling that refuses to go away
Of a song that never sung, heard, or swayed
Just a muted rhythm that lives in each of things
Things that never happened
Things that didn’t stay
All leading to the same road, hazy and in a daze
All memories, all fantasies that never came