'

once upon I time, all I did was not to turn around.

the season passed.

the moon changed phases

and I had a chance not to turn around again.

missed it.

under the pale blue skies

I did not do the part of storytelling

the glances did not do the part of meeting

at first, there was not too much to say.

that is, until the lips met.

and when they do meet

who does the part of talking?

and when the talk is important

who breaches the silence's ties?

when all is as it should be

and all can be

as it did not happen...