He pulled down one of the honey-scented buddleias onto his hand,
I didn't know what was in store for me.
Every time we passed by in hallways,
It felt like winter.
Her eyes are like rocks full of unshed tears.
She had never cried,
Ever since she came here.
If her tears were released,
They would've become diamonds before hitting on the cold hard floor.
The road, I follow, doesn't have to do with her.
But I felt something when I passed her;
We had something in common,
We are both heart-broken.
He reached out his hand,
But not a friendly one.
He could kill me,
Or he probably won't.
His papery flushed skin is a mystery.
He said nothing,
And neither did I.