Honey, please tell me we will make it.
Tell me all this pain is nothing compared to the happiness when we are finally together again; that you are at the end of this misery maze.
Tell me you're listening to songs about almost's, about lost chances, about broken hearts, about moving on, about not getting over someone; that you could still hear my voice inside your mind.
Tell me you remember me in spilled beers, in shattered glasses, in tiny sofas, in white shirts, in everything we talked about. Tell me you think of me when you're alone and when you're having fun.
Tell me all these tears at night are not here to stay in grief, but in joy when we finally come home to each other's tight hugs and forehead kisses.
Tell me that one day, we would meet again and continue the story we had started writing by our lips and tongues long ago; that soon we would mark each chapter of our lives by making love.
Tell me you're waiting for our second hello's minus the goodbye's. Tell me you're waiting for our second shot at love. Tell me you're waiting for me to come back.
Just tell me, please, and help me survive tonight.
—Myka Obinque