Time is a prison whose clock is never up, and we have spent too many “one days” to remember what season of denial we are up to now.
So I write our transcript with invisible ink, And cover the I love you’s with a layer of white-out as a safeguard for when you go looking for a way out again.
You have painted vacancy across every bleeding heart I have tried to apprehend, but your voice is the echo I hear when I am afraid And your eyes are hidden gems I have spent time dissecting into painted horizons
And though I often find myself lost somewhere in the space between a million tiny sunrises, waiting for the dawn to break their reverie, your arms hold a safe-haven from all the storms just before they break.
The blankets will not forget our names, Even if you do And holding your heart was enough, Even if I had to give it back in the end.
