Sometimes, I wonder,
Why can't the sky be always blue?
Why can't white do something good?
Instead of surrendering,
Why can't there be something between us?
But, I realise now,
That somethings cannot turn out well,
The sky can't always be painted blue,
And white signifies surrender,
There will never be you and I,
Because we are the things that cannot work out.
For dreaming, for crescent eyes, for you.