The touch of a hand
The stroke of the hair
The soft, meaningless giggles
A billion butterflies in the stomach
And gazillion emotions running wild.
Unplanned encounters
Spontaneous dates
Fun filled days from dawn to dusk
Late night conversations
All in a tiny colourful bubble.
Pop burst the colourful bubble
No more touching, cuddling or giggling
Conversations rendered confined to that by the eyes
Smiles taken over by sadness
Why do all good things come to an end?
