All those who yearn for what is far away,
Oh irony, perfection does exist
But in proximity will never stay
And will remain enshrouded in the mist.
To all those seeking the unseekable
Hundreds of miles off yet right next to me
Wanting to confess truth yet unable
And now forced upon talk of vanity.
How now squint I discern across the isle
That silhouette of so much excitement
Confidence in action and depth in smile
Yet too far for any love to be sent.
Probably our paths were not meant to meet
Or I can’t handle my looming defeat.
