Suppose fate misplaced us, you and I, both miserable, holding on, yet never close enough to become each other's pulse. Young, foolish, and unbearably lonely. Suppose your scars had finally healed, each one glowing like a star across the night sky. Poor boy, still waiting for me when I couldn't even reach you. Suppose we had grown into one another, like water that never ceases to flow. Watering the roses you once kissed, leaving them forever in bloom. You swore I had saved you from a riot that ended in ashes. Your walls were stained, and I wished I could repaint them. But I couldn't. Suppose someone made a joke of our poor hearts.