she remembered
what happened
on that cold
dawn...

she was so drawn
to this "he"
indeed there are others
but they were
seemingly alone.

again, on that
frosty morn
she was stunned
she was stupefied
from that atmosphere
so calm, so tranquil
he did something
and she was blushing,
tad red, she was
and from that
scurried glance
there filled his eyes
with the sight
of satisfaction
and affection.

he does have
those so-called
mediocre looks

he does have
those off-key
notes

he does have
those unlived
thoughts

and

he does have
a heart of gold
his soul's
way too bold,
way too strong,
way too unwrong.

he was her
current everything,
her decent wings,
her ethereal man,
her eternal friend,
her beautiful distraction
her silent explosion

she was doleful
loathful
but then
lonely,
scared
and worried.

everything might
reach its end.

he was so near
yet
why does he feel
so distant,
very far away
from me?

tears came down
rolling
trying to reach
for his voice
but he never came.
not again.
and then there was
a

she wrote a poem
then...
about him and her
she was befuddled
baffled
she was explicitly
in love with them
she was uncontrollably
being fond of him
of her
of them
because
she was happy

she waited
and waited
but,
something
dissipated.

twas lost.
it vanished
but they saw
such a display
of iridescent
view.

they heard
the sound
from silence
to rain

they smelled
such anonymous
petrichor
as she anchors
the news
he sought for.

he was hers
make that her,
her loving,
caring, sweet
and elite
friend of hers,
her characterless,
careless,
and melodic
tristesse.

crossing those
wildfire bridge
he cried

feeling,
indulging
every sweet
sensation
such display
gave him.

thus,
that ephipany
remained.


he was stunned
and eventually
danced
from happiness
that florished
from those lovebirds'
tragedy.