Are we simply treading water? Or would our love, as oxygen to me, rush to meet the surface of this stagnancy like a spinning orb of air from the deepest parts of us? Would it be our embolism? Would you punish my vanity and self-righteous heart that pulled me from you with clenched eyelids, my teeth as bits of gravel? Are we holding our breath, rubbing tongue to palette, to to savor a new beginning? Or are we mute, our lungs deflated from heaving our separate cries to the nature of young love? We never chase what is impassable. We never reach to touch the haloed edge of orange clouds. We kiss the soft skin before us and turn down our eyes in doubt. Would we look up and smile?