February seventh, two thousand eleven:

One lost comet collides again with a star,

Reflecting the pseudonyms they’ve made.

They exchange their incoherent thoughts

With keys that decipher cryptic dialogues,

Ignoring veracities they’ve chosen to hide.

Words intertwine and metamorphose into

Desolated days where felicity still exists,

Radiating authenticity to both naive souls.

Orbs cannot foresee trails they will follow,

As hearts wait for their day to resuscitate.

Will two ghosts come to terms with truth?