Remember the days we spent,
with flowers in our messy hair,
running through the fields,
hand in hand, with our eyes closed.
Trusting the wind as it led us both.
Remember when we'd play in the river,
and that one time with the water rat,
the only time you looked to me for comfort,
roles reversed for those few seconds.
I ******* miss you,
but to tell you that,
would be stepping to close to the edge,
the edge of the volcano that stands between us.
the place separarting what can be
and what cannot be.
arguing with that volcano would only make it errupt,
suffocating,what was, what is and what could be.