The streetlights had grown tired of lighting our way on our evening walks.
The asphalt had grown irritated by our tread.
The fireflies had grown bored with being marvelled at.
The mosquitoes had grown sick of our blood.
This town had grown too old and too familiar with us.

But the night sparks flew, the streetlights held steady.
The asphalt hardened, a pathway once again.
The fireflies lit up in excitement.
The mosquitoes sat still.
This town held its breath.

But we waited and waited
And this town, once green, turned blue,
Oxygen-deprived,
From waiting too long, with baited breath
For us to finally realize our destiny.

We were not star-crossed lovers,
We were us-crossed lovers.
We were fated, but fate could not win,
We fought our fate.
We were resolved to keep avoiding what the streetlights
And the asphalt
And the mosquitoes
And all the town knew.
And we were at this note,
With a fermata
But we, the conductor, would never move on to the next bar,
Nor would we stop the piece.
So we were dwelling on this note
At this precipice
And we would never come down.