we were throw, into the glistning , freezing, crulty of snow, and you whisperd to me, we will make it.
even thought I always though, within this war, when so many has lost so much, there is no making it.
but you pretend as if the depth of your woonds are so very dismisable, you cluch my palms and sway me, across the rewined streets of what once was tokyo, what once were our play grounds, and caffes and libraries.
moments from now, the sky will be painted red, explosions, arms and legs and overflows, and you smile to me and say, arent the fireworks beautiful?