To him her grief is an unspoken glow. It’s a different kind of sadness, unlike any other girls’ cheap flavorless tears. When she’s out of his sight, he torments his soul with questions. She’s a show, he finds her as a blue ocean splendor, contented grass waving at city trains, a spark in a sailor’s eyes. He wishes to measure the depth of her grief and lifts her up from there. Days are numbered, and he aches. He seeks for lines, treasures steps, ticks like a clock.
To her he’s a restless soul. Shabby charm, nervous knuckles, clear eyes. She’s drawn to him of that she knows. There’s something in him that she needs to rescue, a parachute to a fierce sudden fall. The air is sweet, the grounds grow leaves. When they talk, his shadow leans on her light-maroon dress.