Missing...

I miss my son, his quatit laughs

His soft voice and naughty acts

 

I miss my mom, asking me where I was

Who I’m with, if I’m ok, to call her was a must

 

I miss my sisters, our small talks, our sharing story

Scolding me about not picking the right kind of lady

 

I miss my friends, drinks, trips, crazy stunts

Loitering, bombing, lasses one of the hunts

 

I miss them all, I miss the time I’m with them

I miss the places we go, every moment was a gem

 

I miss …  dodon … papu … closet … under the bed …

 

I miss myself.