posted on: Wednesday April 14, 2010
Dara Plath ’13 / Asst. Portfolio Editor
Let us speak, for words are all we have to express our fate, of rainy days and birthday wishes sent too late. I’ll meet you at that place,where glass paned windows reflect the tired lines of your swollen faceand the air is heavy with formless memories and tragic mistakes.Let us speak, and we will try to trace the path of those star-crossed lovers,with the yellow lines of this pot-holed highway,as we continue to speed on towards the dawn. You always asked me, “Why can’t we continue on like this?”In a suspended moment of fictitious bliss.Can we speak, when everyday becomes muddled by a bric-a-brac, of crumpled love notes and movie tickets and restaurant receipts:now nothing but a hollow stack, separating you and me.For in those words perhaps we will find, a reason for why we have become so blind to love.And if we cannot speak, then I will hold your hand, as we walk along this road of discarded cigarettes and overturned trash cans.We will let the street lights be our guide, and in the vacant windows of forgotten homes we will confidethe truth.For isn’t it written, that those star-crossed lovers we all so wish to emulate, were entrapped within that fickle bondage we all call fate?