Synchrony.

As we will never belong again.

Once is also a promise, you see. 

Move to the sound. We're trapped in boxes. Mine is glass, and the other is concrete. It's loud, and the sky is exploding. So don't stop. Too soon to say, and too late to do. Let's keep it all for later. Later, if there will be one. The summer never ended, and the flowers have all melted. I saved some but the bees are dead. There is water, and the sky is in it. So is the grass, and so is our world. There's quicksand, and I buried it with my own hands. So open your eyes and dream it all away, for we can still catch the rainbow in time. But we'll stay in our boxes, filled to the brim. With snatches of an old song, an awkward pause...

... and our own tragic flaws.