she was 17 wishing she was 6, feet under, not years old. The sun had never felt so distant. although alive she was not living, unlike the plants that grew beside her, but like the ones inside her, tainted and uncontrolled .
he was 17 looking for galaxies in the eyes of people who didn’t deserve even a star. wishing on dead dreams with a broken heart. although breathing he was drowned by the alcohol he immersed himself in, found washed up and barely conscious in the local bar.
they were 17 rotting at the soul, waiting for the moment they would fall, lonely. although exhausted and ready to go, found themselves not so much alone. staring in the eyes of one-another, lost no longer, but now found and feeling at home.