I let go of my hand today
because no one showed me the way,
I have nothing to pay
because no one asked me to stay.

emotions and pride have clouded my judgment.

maybe it's me
maybe it lies within me
maybe
just maybe
it is really wasn't meant to be

the fragments of our soul
seems to lose their ways in finding each other
they say everything is written in the stars,
but I can't seem to find us among them
then, like what they say
we're really

never meant to be

we sigh and
we stamp our feet,
rub our hands,
red cheeks aflame
'oh, dear.'
our breath makes clouds,
and 'What's the matter?'
And the clouds are extinguished flames,
which billow into being from our blistering breaths,
rising straight toward the white sun,
straight on upwards.

Downward cast eyes,
wet eyelashes,
scrunching our noses with cheeks like red roses,
And the cold is everywhere, everywhere.
and what are we waiting for?
In this God-awful cold?
And there is some humour in your eye.
A secret, which you rub in your hands
whisper into those white breath-clouds,
and upwards it billows,
to God-knows-where,
as we sigh and wait in the cold, cold air.