Past.
We're flying.
We're on top of the world.
We're ecstatic.
Our feet don't touch
The ground until
The bell rings.
The rubber seats
And metal chains;
They're our thing.
We're flying, we're free
And naive.

Present.
We're strangers.
We're different.
We're alone.
I still wonder
If you remember
Being the
King and Queen
Of the rubber seats and
Metal chains.
Our eyes meet
And we flinch.
I don't get why
This happened.
We were so
H



a
p

p

y.

Future.
We're gone.
We're off.
We're separate.
There she goes.
Your “one and only.”
Inside I wonder,
“Was that me?”

Strangers.