I won’t tell you I want to spend more time
What I feel, let it be conveyed like a pantomime
For you, how can I be happy knowing that in our friend’s story
She has turned you into a third party which has made me angry
The memory of us staring at the sky colored by peach
Is saddening enough to be written on a paper plane to be thrown out of reach
Like parallel lines that are never meant to cross with
We can never be romantically solid; we have length and height but not width
