She is brokenness
With a pretty cover
He is lost sighs
Of the star crossed lovers.

She is the familiar face
In a crowded street
He is the purest relation
Not obligatory, yet a need.

She is the grace
by which the leaves fall
He is the warm embrace
of sunlight on a winter morn.

She is the whimper
Of the lonely moon
He is the the lake
In which its reflection floats.

She is his past midnight drunken confessions
He is what she spills all over the blank paper.