Splintered

Sitting right there,
On that picnic bench,
I see,
Two girls
With different faces,
And the same stories
One cried and one smiled,
One got used to it, and one gave up,
The first one was overtaken by anger,
And the second one buried it down with a smile,
And now they meet,
Introduced by a mutual person,
Sitting on a picnic bench,
They stare at each other and hesitate,
The sun and the moon,
Both bright and forever fighting,
They look down at the splintered wood of the picnic bench,
They are hurt, but fight,
They love themselves, but they are lost,
Two lost souls,
Splintered and bruised.