She walks, like mist in the night. She's almost invisible. The way the mountains are when it's very foggy in the winters. In fact, she was like the fog, very much there, still out of grasp.
She's a keen observer. She takes in the stares, the smells, the screams, the whispers. She barely speaks, or maybe she's plain incoherent. She, has a language of her own.
Restless, young, wild, rebellious, uncertain.
She was on fire.
And we watched the plumes paint the sky gray
And she laughed and danced through the field of graves
There I knew it would be alright
That everything would be alright
Alienated, deprived, silent.
He said so. And when he said, you believed. Why? Cause you and I love him? Maybe. He was the dream, that every girl had in the nights.
And for him, she seemed beautiful.
If not for him, you and I would barely have noticed her.
Does she like him too?
I don't know, neither you. Like I said, she, has a language of her own.
And she was on fire.
"And they only knew it was a matter of time"
It was the night, that our parents warned us about. Some begged us to stay at home. The others' simply forced.
But she was factious. Threatening, unruly, warring.
She went out.
And so did he. Why? Cause he found her beautiful.
The firemen worked in double shifts,
With prayers for rain on their lips
And they knew it was only a matter of time.
They didn't talk much. Or so we heard. They just walked, close. Towards completion, realization.
Devoured, were they.
What did I and you do then? We just smiled. At the chemistry, at the silent love.
But I couldn't think of anywhere I would have rather been
To watch it all burn away.
To burn away.
They are still together. Sometimes, she smiles. She still has a language of her own. But now, he knows it too. They, have a language of their own.