In the echoes of questions, silence profound,

Your friend sought answers, but none were found.

A tapestry woven with moments untold,

A story of us, mysteries unfold.

The canvas painted with hues so diverse,

Moments shared, both blessing and curse.

Yet, the chapters inscribed in my heart,

Private tales, I choose not to impart.

Each twist and turn, a personal trace,

Etched in time, a cherished embrace.

For in the quiet of my own soul's domain,

Those memories linger, undisturbed terrain.

I falter in words, for the past is a tome,

A collection of stories, our shared, private home.

In the book of us, pages hidden from view,

I keep these moments, a love that once grew.