It’ll only turn out as a tragedy.
When colors mix in the saddest way,
It produces an image of you and me.
When dead trees sprout in the middle of The freshest meadows;
And flowers wilt in the beginning of spring
And when fireflies loses their glow,
It reminds us of our things.
When clouds cry and never stop,
And stars fall in the form of shards,
When towers tumble from the tops,
It reminds me of our heart.
When lightening inhabits every cloud,
And When words and laughter seem so foreign to us,
When we see to each other but no sound,
It’s reminds me how we faded to dust.
So every time,
When someone say the word of “TRAGEDY”
My mind can’t help but come back to the time,
TO YOU AND ME.