We close the book on memories past, Love and hate, now reduced to ashes at last. Our paths diverged, like branches on a tree, The talks of games, now whispers of vows to be. Perhaps we'll smile, if our eyes meet in a crowd, A fleeting glance, a moment's pause, a nostalgic cloud. Memories will flash, like fireflies on a summer's night, A bittersweet reminder, of love's transient light. Our children grow, in the same ways we did, Their laughter and tears, a reflection of our own life's grid. Time, the great healer, yet also the thief, Steals away moments, we can never retrieve. Memories linger, bittersweet and frail, Reminding us to cherish, the love that never fails. The cycle repeats, as our stories intertwine, A bittersweet nostalgia, forever left behind.