His silence discovered her, cutting in to her soul and revealing it to him. His ocean eyes
pull her towards him, begging for her lips, taste, touch. He found something
more in her. He was hers. She was his. But he kept his
distance, stopped his fingertips from touching her, tried to find a way of staring
at her without her noticing. Oh, but she always noticed, for she was staring, too.
Her heart craved him more than anything, he became a drug, a bittersweet
addiction filling her entire body. She needed those lips that felt
like ******, she wished he was a cigarette
so she could fill her lungs with him. His skin told a story
she'd never heard before, his voice was the record
she'd always listen to.

It was never enough for them. Despite the stolen touches in crowds,
or the bedroom eyes across the floor; they always needed more.
She wanted to kiss him more than she wanted her next breath.
He wanted to kiss her more than he wanted his last breath.
But they couldn't touch, for he was a coward
and she was a liar
and they didn't know how to love eachother
without breaking eachother's hearts.
So they kept their distance,
pretended that they were never meant,
pretending their heart's didn't ache
everytime they saw one another.
For the sake of pride,
they could not have eachother.
He was somebody elses
and she a wandering ghost
still drowning in his ocean eyes,
still lost in him.