How lost has “us” become.

Slowly, the water of our youth melts between the stones,

Causing our early whispers to disperse with tempered fits,

making it difficult to remember our true loves first kiss.

Can distance truly repair the parts of history we’d share

or corrupts the events with hollowed affairs.

Love is not without the heart, my dear.

Only we can tell of this tale.

If only we’d stop plotting our schemes,

then our fantasy of romance could come at light.

But, no matter how sweet the lie may be

nothing could escape the cruel phantom of truth