A shoebox lies at their feet, its contents strewn about

Her paraphernalia of them together, things she can't do without

His eyes peruse a piece of prose, one she wrote about him

Fingers twitching, gnawing her lip, the tension renders her grim

Eyeing the ending, or a lack thereof, she sees he notices too

Voice breaking a tad, not quite meeting his eyes, says no ending would be sufficiently true

Inching closer, his hand latches through hers, sealing their ties that bind

Her world knocks off its axis, swirling, spinning, as she drinks in their kiss of red wine

The first time she pictures herself wedded to him

She's in his bed, her prodding jabs in vain

Through heavily lidded he squints and stares

And taking in his lazy smile, she muses 'How strange', they're only eight.

Am I the only one

Who still yearns for the past?

Our bullet wounds from toy guns

As our mums looked on aghast

It started out in nursery

Being dunked into the pool

Then evolving massively

Was lunch after Sunday school

Parties, plays on Saturday nights

I dressed in greens and blues

But though primping was fun I soon knew

It was not for me but you

A roguish grin, a quirky laugh

I miss your making me smile

We never strayed far from each other's paths

And yet since it's been a while

A tremble, a shiver at your slightest touch

My eyes shone at your confession

Although I acted like it didn't mean much

My nonchalance meant disbelief under discretion

We used to slide off banisters

Leap off furniture and all

You'd go first and be down there

To grasp my hand should it be too tall

Like puzzles fit, our hands were

As you hoisted me off the wall

Now I'm not so certain

If you'd catch me when I fall

Right here

Right now

Would you catch me when I fall?