Maybe this time

She was a flame and the mess, her idea
Head in the clouds, a need to go higher
And he was the wind and the storm, his wake
Made a masterpiece but wanted a clean slate.

Somewhere along the lines, roles reversed
A heart gone silent, a brain in self converse
He, a dying passion for the remaining girl
She, burning desire to let go of the world.

He with enough courage to take his leave
She wishing her memories was instead a sieve
With no idea what's in his throbbing head
Except a glimpse of his happiness at her dead.

Her head and his heart, now made of stone
Surrounded by people and still so alone
She, standing firm with company of her words
He, already swept away with the brain-dead herd.

Maybe this time, she would not be the one to suffer
In this tiny country with year-round summer
Maybe someday she'd be the remembered one
He just needs to recall how much she loved the sun.