The butterflies are coming back, early, but earned, by the scorched, silent earth. Raindrops reach out to the solemn soil, soothing her with a gentle kiss, whispering about the fantasy of soft, Spring days, and for just a moment, there is a reason to live.

Our hands are dancing in the dark, hypnotised by hundreds of trailers, hundreds of chances to be here again, with popcorn between us, staring up, aching for us to kiss, like they do on the silver screen. Still, the room is silent, still, frozen and forlorn, as your eyes search for mine in the dark,…

The sun was a false prophet, but I forgave her for her deception. She never meant to lie, but the words were planted in her mouth, like bad seeds, shoots, choked by weeds, on a cold and frosty morning. I wanted to believe, and she wanted it to be true. Together, we skipped down broken…