here’s to the days it seems as though love is hiding in plain sight. a forgotten warmth, promising all things to be whispered behind nervous palms underneath the moon. the question is written inside her eyes clear as day, a flash of hurt crossing their bridge when she’s pushed to the distant regions of his mind for another. roses are her favorite flower and maybe he’s not one for clichés. the streets are empty now, the distance between them measured in trees. but their branches still do not cross.