The low cloud above the hill
Would cling to the top of the tallest tree,
And yet no memory of us
Would cling to me the way nature illustrates.

Not forgetfulness, my love.
Not out of spite, my dear.
Just a watercolor of the way we were.
And don't lie, we weren't happy.

Those days where we sat in front of a konbini,
Long after-school after-noons,
Ended far too soon.
Ended far too quiet.

You would stare, stare, stare a storm.
A tempest that I could not see despite examining you for a lifetime.
They said we looked perfect together.
But you never looked at me the way you would the distance.

So instead the distance stood in between me and you,
Kota.
I was so ready to love you.
But we bit off more than we could chew.