Was it all just gone?
Like a dress, frilled and worn.
Was it all just at doom,
from what you wrote I thought it was sworn.
At times I would forget.
Forget to think again.
Think about those summer nights.
Filled with summer heat and summer time.
But some memories I won't wipe clean,
they're a story not yet freed.
I refuse to pretend,
that this muddled mess is at an end.
That the story has no mend.
Just a block of final text.
One day I will come to thee.
To show you that our talks were meant to be.
You can tell me no and I will go.
Because a ferris wheel is what I know.
The Eye of London I will see,
with or with out thee.