Rare is the laugh that crumbles the space between living moments.
A kettle beginning to boil, anticipation growing
It hurt when I found out she was a liar
No different, no better than the rest of us
Prose and poetry , glances unforgiving
Hands tightly together, holding onto nothing.
Spring came, summer faded, fall smirks.
Two seasons to go, one forever to forget
The laugh was always a lie
Though still, how rare it was.
