As they sat so far apart she waited for
the clouds to part, he waited for the
game to start. They tried to hear and
they tried to see but both in fear of
what's meant to be, their eyes stuck on
comraderie as their hearts tried so damn
hard to flee. They couldn't reach and
and couldn't touch, less than 5 feet but
miles too much, seperating them with a
thin membrane made from memories of attempts
so vain. Throats full of thoughts and
flowers, petals withering by the hours
due to painful drought in the mouth sewn
shut. So much lost and little gained, so
much more if not refrained. What is it
with this dreadful pain that's been killing
trees in Lover's Lane?
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