I see someone from time to time,

Thriving to be substantially fine;

Previously vivacious and evergreen,

Until the unpredictables were seen.

 

She sits alone on a mediocre bench,

Still, consumed by unknowables,

Unbothered by the world around

Like she's laying in a deserted trench.

 

There are healing cuts on her hand,

There are unhealed cuts on the tree,

They stare at eachother, eye-level,

As the moments momentarily freeze.

 

Some days, the summer-blazing-sun

Chooses not to expeditiously run,

While some days, the pouring sky 

Decides not to concisely pry. 

 

There echoes two grateful hearts,

Lively, botanically breathing;

I see one beautiful, bodied soul,

Not thinking anymore about fleeting. 

 

I remember her curiosities oozing out,

And her heart predominantly beating,

I seldom see that revealing resemblance,

Not thinking anymore about fleeting.