Today again, my heart is black,
For the pain I've suffered. There is no lack.
Trying to forget, by all means,
Studying, playing, yet not forgetting.
It did not help, not a single bit,
Forgetting is like a bottomless pit.

I've lost interest in most things I want,
Basketball, leisure. Past things I hunt.
For in basketball, I've deproved much,
I can't play well now, I've lost my touch.
I played today, I couldn't get more,
Blisters, swollen finger, muscle sores.

I reached home at 9, dreamingly unaware,
That I create this poem, by just a stare
At my desk, with the song playing,
The song that I've listened - An Jing.
Grabbing a pen, and flipping my book,
I put the words in place, the words I wrote.

Know that it's hard, to let you go,
To pick up the pieces, which I had just broke.
No matter how hard, I must try,
To put back the pieces, To have it repair.
Though it may not be perfect, may not be new,
It is the feelings that's embedded, my feelings for you.

Repair the damage, even though it's too great,
Yet not trying, is a mistake I made.
I choose to avoid, the broken glass,
Instead of picking them up, I bite the dust.
Now that I know, it's necessary to repair,
The broken pieces, not one to spare.

I am no poet. These are my thoughts.