The black crayon

I see you in distance, I turn my back.

I hold on to my book and the brown box.
Chocolates have turned sour,
The button has fallen off.
Photographs too have lost their shine.
I look away, my feet are dead.
I search my bag, and my brains.
I find the black crayon and the white lie,
the lemon tart and your vulgar cries.
I was certain and I still am our paths should never have converged,
Yet I find a part of you lurking underneath my mind somewhere.