I was wandering through the garden back behind your rocket shed the stars were blinkin out in protest of the reflection in my lenses, a message left and anticipated with bated breath, my fingers tore open the letter that was waiting there, waiting on a change
but nothing will and no one's ever lived to tell the tale.
these, the night thoughts are no haven from uncertain paths, a proclivity to stare out past the rooftops and think of all the people i'd rather be to watch the film unfold from under your comforter to see the stills of the thing like they were so complex so simple, and yet connects
falls away, like they were never there to stay
and we don't have to say those things we really feel only get in the way
The goalie never stood a chance it slipped right through his hands and you were slipping too.