Him

She thinks.
Thinks about life.
Thinks about him.

He thinks lies.
Lies about love.
Lies about them.

They hate life.
Life about love.
Life about death.

She thinks about them, being together.
He thinks about him, being alone.
They take different roads.

She walks.
Walking through thoughts.
Walking through time.

Time goes by.
She sits under a willow.
She sits under the sky.

That imaginary past seems to never leave.
Those memories of them seem to linger like a bauble on a Christmas tree.
Those memories seem to flow like water falling from a mountain.

Like a butterfly on a rose,
Like a bright red rose on a dark night,
His face settles for some long minutes in her mind, until his lips touch hers.