She sits there at the edge of the room,

People come and go; everyone's so busy.

She's got tales to tell but no one,

Except herself to hear.

Once in a while I try to start a conversation.

But she just smiles.

We spend hours staring at the silent ceiling, the lonely walls,

the beautiful thin air - pretending to have something in common.

In her silence I find my answers.

"You've got her eyes." they said, I remember.

To that we both cry.

Her tears are camouflaged by the separation.

My palms wipe my tears and then to her help - the dust.

The wind gently knocks in and kiss my cheeks.

That familiar old kiss - something unaltered by time.

The smell of her skin still lingers in the uncared air.

We are different but still the same,

We have; but still don't have each other.

Can she hear me? "I don't know"

Can I hear her? "I just need to close my eyes."

I kiss her and the soft impression lingers on the frame,

Hung by a nail,

Some seven feet from the ground.

She just smiles.

In her silence I find my Answers.