Seperated Paths

Her voice was like a bread-knife poking ever so softly into your chest, not welcoming, not uncomfortable. Thoughts of kissing her flashed through my mind as I willingly suffered at the hands of the icy breeze in the damp, seedy city air. Of all the incredible experiences my day had contained, meeting her was the best of them - yet I could say nothing to tell her of this. So many insignificant things managed to get our paths to cross, yet none significant enough to unite them, even for the smallest of moments. Morning has come, my path drifts from yours, unknown if our journeys will cross again