She was a masterpiece

worth watching afar.

She was a masterpiece

not meant to be destroyed.

She was a masterpiece

now taken away

and I don't

know why.

When you turn fifteen

people say, things change.

For good or worse

it sticks all way.

She stopped.

Stopped altogether.

She was away somewhere,

no longer in my ocean, in my bay.

I no longer felt 

the night sky 

fall on me.

I no longer felt

that my move 

had a chance.

Like a fragile rope

now cut,

she ended it all up.

Our distances grew 

that once foot apart

now turned

miles forever.

I was scared again.

Only once or twice

I dreamed 

of her.

Emptiness sunk,

inside bit by bit.

The crescent now

lost its home.

She ran away

the same way 

two years ago.

Away from me,

from my thoughts.

I was scared,

scared that

the rope can never be

tied again.

Slowly it faded,

that addictive feeling,

with all closed gates.

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