Never knowing the songs

She never arrives,
but, in each successive wave
of hope, I reach out
for a symphony
of moments from her, so hurt
can be sung away;

I'll hold her: my arm
around her shoulders even though
to others, she seems
reluctant to take
part. Let them all wonder why
we got together:

I'll never forget.
But, now I'm aware she won't
arrive, I know that,
even before she
shrugs me off, I'm erased from
her story so far;

Landscapes will always
differ: our cities clash and
our towers crumble,
leaving nothing, but
rubble: the broken remnants
of what might have been;

She stopped embracing
me back; so I lost control
of the towns of our
imagination.
At the end of it, I will
still not know the songs.