sitting on the side seats of the bus she stares out and wonders how and why.. where n wt.. when did the lines so clear before fade so fast and furiously, with the tethers of the passion- they merged in what became a tell tale song of guilt.. tears come down the cheeks imprinted allready by the lips of two .
what good does salted water do when one tear only just covers a drop of water from the ocean of guilt..
nthin can turn the hands of time towards the moment when hesitation may have saved them both the pain and wretched hurt they will find..
bt now looking out the dirty city roads, peppered with stalls open for the night, selling wooden black and white painted zebras, she knows, that the mess of the slurred leaves a slurry mess of goo and mud, that draws one inwards.
Perhaps she concludes, ignorace is bliss... for even the ocean dries up when there there isn't ne one to remember it by.