How delicate and pure are the unrequited affections
A fleeting glimpse of the future's past
The forgotten seed never to touch soil;
Failure to begin in infantile bud
Rejected from sweet bloom.
All composed by chance.
A place in time where all is ever so fragile--
The sumptuous sentiment a timid trap
Upon which one enters on their own accord;
Where there is hardly any light
And such reverie cannot bear any fruit
While all along there is no exit.