Two little birds,
Sitting on a branch,
No cares in life,
Happy in each other,
No need for another.
A blessed life indeed,
One led with love,
Nothing more,
Nothing less.
Perhaps, you and I,
Could have been,
Two little birds,
Sitting on a branch.
A hopeless thought,
A damning one at that,
But one that haunts me,
After a long hiatus,
Spent on a cloud,
Miles away from you.
I will never know,
If you are what I thought,
Or if you are not,
If we could have been,
Perfect for each other,
Or a hopeless match,
Made in a heavenly Hell.
You will fly your way,
And I will fly mine,
But I will not forget,
I cannot forget.
You are not the first,
But you must be the last,
I will never again,
Fall so quickly for a dream.
An injured wing,
Heals with time,
The pain is almost gone,
But I still feel an ache,
In the depths of my heart,
Where your imagined being,
Used to reside amidst hope,
And dearest fantasies.
Our ship was destined,
For the jagged rocks,
Of melancholy memories,
Of things that never happened,
Of things that I wish,
Could have happened.
The only hope I have left,
Is that you will fly farther,
Than I ever could have dreamed,
That I will learn from you,
And you will learn what you desire.
But somewhere deep inside,
I will always wonder,
If we could have been,
Two little birds,
Sitting on a branch.