In what you call weird shaped cloud;
I'd look for pictures aloud.
The memories of us you forget to fight?
Actually it's me, holding on to them; tight.
I no more exist in a frame in your office;
But that you remembered to forget me is my edifice.
We were made of blown glass,
But what everyone saw was sass and class.
Time will erase us away,
It will even make me sway.
But, if we ever cross again,
Don't forget to lock eyes and seal this pain.