"you know what's ironic?"
she asks him,
completely oblivious to the fact,
that her eyes
are twinkling ocean blue,
when she speaks
and how much,
her frozen skin is
dying to be touched,
by his warmth.
she is lonely,
and who knows
who made those eyes
weary
"no." he replies,
shrugging nonchalantly,
the boy whose nose
is always buried in books,
for the first time
is out of words.
"love," she bites her lip
and wes knows
that is the cue;
he loves her.
"it makes us feel alive, but it kills us."
