The past has crept up behind me,
Momentarily leaving it's stagnant state,
Jibing my mind with what I used to know,
Oh how things change,
Or how elementary ye remain,
Countless dreams we may have had,
Countless desires we may have shared,
Our heads appear on the same track,
Heading for the same destination, limerence station,
For only if the conductor has the will
Whom he is, I shant never know,
But cognizant of him, I'll always know,
Here we are though,
At the break of our speech,
Shall we speak again?
Or is the wall not meant to be breeched?