“Talk to me..”

“i dont want to”

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300 Miles was just far enough to never live up to what won’t fix itself. Its not enough, no its never enough to give and to take. To sit and to wait. When it all just feels the same.

Has it started to feel like home? So afraid of calling it so. Seldom doses of security and minor growth. Has started to feel lonesome? So afraid of admitting it as so. All bottled up, and disguised so no one could ever know. I’d blame myself for always wanting more, but first impressions are nothing behind closed doors.

Whats more to expect from your face to the floorboard, than the color of the tile floor. The only thing that you deserve is a mirror with a hand to hold. A perfect reflection of your perception of God and love. If time is all it takes I’d rip the hands from every clock just to never feel a thing.

Perfect paintings still fall down, Some things just don’t work out. Perfect paintings still fall down and some things just fall apart. If time is all it takes I’d rip the hands from every clock to never feel a thing. Prides a crutch, grief’s not enough. Give up the ghost; or just grow up. Miles away; Empty apartment and beds. My wasted effort on things just not meant to mend.

The perfect color of the tile floor. We’d always assume the worst. The perfect color of the tile floor. The perfect shade of black and gray. The perfect picture of you and him.