I was proposed to once,
in an unfinished treehouse,
in his backyard.
The silence that fell between us,
only reminded me that:
we were just a thought.
An idea that tasted sweet
on the tip of my tongue;
but grew sour when I laughed.
And you kicked the leaves in defeat,
knowing that this was a passing phase.
And that saying "yes" wouldn't change
the way a clock ticks.
*The very clock that would be our end.