He’s an artist.
She always knew from the creative look in his brown eyes
that seems to see everything in the world as his own canvas.
He has that breezy September spirit
and that fresh promise of autumn.
He has the power to draw realities in his fingertips
but he lives in a word far from the actuality of life
so he only draws daydreams
that are nothing more than whispers never heard by anything but the wind.
She’s a writer.
She sees a story in every person
and in every person the hope for a happy ending.
She is hidden away from everything except an old brown journal
that knows her soul like nothing else.
She has that fresh June smile
that has withstood the April storms.
Her mind is full of chaos from different worlds all unfolding at once
and it is too much for one person alone.
He tried to draw her like one of his distant daydreams
And she tried to write him like one of her poetic stories
Both of them forgetting that people cannot be daydreams
A person simply cannot be more
than a person.
And that is the saddest ending of them all.