love is a plant of the most tender kind, 
that shrinks and shakes with every ruffling wind

but time has not stood still for him, 
it has washed over him,
washed him away,
as if he is nothing more than the remnants of a shattered glass

she does not know what to say,
for no word she can find is satisfactorily descriptive

so she wanders, lonely as a cloud

"so don't lie bright eyes

 is it me that you see

tell me I'm not dreaming alone"

- Against The Current