I wrote what I could.  
The lump in my throat pressed with such intent that tears were forced to fall.
So I've dropped the ball, and the doors have opened up

Two small trebutaries have emerged with little direction on where to go next
Confined and repressed, they now live a life so complex-
That had their thoughts existed, they wouldn't make it in the real world.

At the chin they met and swirled,
As if they've been meant to be together all along
Yet spiky hairs on the neck proved to be much more than they'd expect.

They tumbled as wrecks, independently til they hit the chest.
Anything but gently, they crashed.  
Apart now but memories remain
They've darkened the shirt as if they created stains.

It was the consensus to trade in the cards the dealer dealt..
But they'll flow on, and continue making impressions felt.
We'll absorb our pains to, establish growth
The one thing that I know though
is that I don't.

There's a persistent stream of "This happened for a reason"
But changes in feeling come and go like the changing of seasons.