The sun set, with scarlet potential, unrealised and unmet.

As I awaited your ephemeral silhouette; the promise to be kept.

The black flower blooms;
Crimson's king, the moon turns red,
Seconds sum seasons.

O my heart, broken and betrayed; beaten, battered, bruised beyond Beauty's bear.

Though my eyes haven't yet spilled a single tear, O my heart, with aches foretell of heavy rain; of regret and remorse religiously retained.

At first my breath had ceased... had paused. Then my heart and mind; love and logic had waged a war; leaving my severed spirit... to bear its dear cross - Both Forsaken And Lost.

Heartbreak decided, that he had to bring his childhood friend. And I know that he means well, but he could be quite annoying.

Cause who needs memories, when you're trying to forget; memories of how she wiped away your tears, immediately after you had wept.

These orchids are yours, and with them, all colours known to earthly sight.

They shall prove rigid, ever blocking Time's course, professing eternity their right.

Roses express my affections well; blooming amidst the warmth of Summer, fed to satisfaction by the dew of your lips . . . yet they shall wither.

Then dry dust shall be my affections' well; blooming Lycoris Radiata legions advancing amidst the warmth of Death's banner . . . Towards our love's ellipse . . .

YET -

These orchids are yours, and with them, the multi-folded papers from which their fibres and petals are equally composed. These are humble gifts, but were they to boast: "We orchids offer to thine love, an eternity; an assurance of perpetuity, by toast."

I took our love to the bank, deposited it into a safe. The economy of our love is stagnant and blank, much like the look on your face.

The maintenance fees are high, they come with stress and quarrel; no goodbyes after a call. I am love's employee, both sore and sigh, I might go bald, and gladly; if our love might survive.

I took our love to the bank, and left it there. My father was frank but no doubt sincere, when he warned me: "Do prepare for the rainy days."

I watched them from afar, as they laughed and played. Two pieces of innocence, that were soon to fade.

Cause each day they're getting older, now their smiles don't seem the same. They write their feelings in a folder, cuddling they pillows tightly, as they whisper the other's name.

The boy says: "I wish that I could hold you, just like when we used to play. I feel that I love you, but fear that you might not feel the same. So I'll hug my pillow tight, and these tears... will get me through the night. Tomorrow, I will get to see you smile, and I'll be alright."

The girl peeps through her bedroom window, though she can't see the boy. 'Maybe he's asleep, it was a long day after all.' Now she hugs a handmade doll, and whispers words she hopes it can't repeat:

"He looks so cute, when he takes a nap; though I can't remember, the last day his head rested in my lap. Doesn't he love me? Am I really just a friend? These feelings that I have, how can I ever tell him them? I miss the way he held me, all back then; like I was more than a friend. All of these kisses that I give you, are really meant for him."

She sighs and looks up at sky. "Why must boys become men? And why do I want that man, to be more than just my friend?... To be my lover in the end."