He was a one dimensional guy.
She was a
gathering of stories.
And they
would clash, time and time again.
At the line
between fantasy and reality.
She was an
emerging hurricane.
A collection
of aftershocks.
He was a one
sided coin.
Stuck to the
top of a mountain.
All he saw, was the sun.
It must be nice to not house
a museum of caustic nostalgia in the veins of your mind.
It must be
nice,
To only see the sun.
To only see the sun.
