Sadset

I won’t tell you I want to spend more time
What I feel—let it be conveyed like a pantomime

For you, how can I be happy knowing that, in our friend’s story,
She has turned you into a third party—which has made me angry?

The memory of us staring at the sky colored by peach
Is saddening enough to be written on a paper plane, to be thrown out of reach

Like parallel lines that are never meant to cross with,
We can never be romantically solid; we have length and height, but not width