We were never,

But my dreams at night told me that our story made the Cold War seem insignificant to history.

Every time my eyes try to revisit our accounts,

The brain overlooks the blurred memories.

I hear the child like laughters we had together,

It was day time,

I knew I was still sane.

I uttered out prayers that would compress all the time we had into one single breath,

The convoluted narrative builds up in my chest,

And the mind wires itself into the "what could have been" questions.

Some days, some nights,

The automated, auburn-colored, autistic time machine sets me under its maledictions,

Split seconds of a make believe realism fails to lose touch,

Simplicity placed itself in romanticism,

Setting a high bar for a rare connection that screams modern decency.

I sensed it,

Both admiration and judgements drowning in naivety,

They pulled him away from the very character that sets him apart from the others; his power of reasoning,

I lost my train of thoughts in the clouds,

And I forgot,

He is also a member of a defective community.

We were never,

And the few months of guiltful resentment held him liable,

But as an extremist in a romantic fantasy world, I, too, was at fault.

Five years later, one night,

Secondhand serenade playing,

Twisting the stream of conciousness,

Was it a moment of epiphany?

I thought, "This whole story of us missing the flight designated to a glorious ending is one part of our story, one little fraction of the whole moment we always were".