The Unfinished Triangle

The classroom after school; sunset streams through the window.
Shadows stretch across the floor, slowly overlapping.
“We're alike, aren't we?” The laughter hasn't faded yet.

In a cold textbook filled only with correct answers,
the signs that prove two things are the same:
three signs.
We're still searching for them.

If three distances matched as if by a miracle,
would this uncertainty someday have a name?

We step forward at the angles of our choices.
Even if we choose different paths,
our angles point toward the same future.

Wearing the same uniforms, walking the same road,
competing over silly things, like who's taller.
Just as we were that day, laughing, “I won't lose.”

In the unguarded corner of a notebook, still covered in scribbles,
I push aside eraser crumbs, hoping to find
the signs of three.
We're still searching, even now.

Because our heartbeats fell into step like a miracle,
this moment is truly here, right now.

We step forward at the angles of our choices.
Even if we choose different paths,
our angles point toward the same future.

Beginning with a chance encounter,
our hearts coming together feels inevitable.

But some conditions are still missing.
We don't need a proof just yet.

If three distances matched as if by a miracle,
this moment would surely mean something too.

We step forward at the angles of our choices.
Even if we choose different paths,
our angles point toward the same future.

We still don't quite overlap:
an unfinished triangle.

An unfinished triangle.