I sit here on the park bench in the end of the night, just before dawn and wonder how the birds know to leave in a flock towards the purple sky. The words you refuse to say, are hidden in your every move. It’s no secret to me that your style never involved the stars and the moon. So we sat one winter morning, the sun, not yet risen. I’ve never really trusted my dreams with prayer, but have admittedly found myself pleading into the air, just to keep you safe from the harms that might appear. I’ll love you when you’re gentle and I’ll love you when you’re wild, all that really matters is that “love’d” be nice.
Some would say I dream too much, and some would even say I’m a fool.But then again, this life never had order and it never had any rules. We want the love they talk about, though it’s never like they say it is, you’ll find that come tomorrow, you can’t remember why you felt like this.
When you uttered to me that you were in love with me, did you have a clue to what you meant? Or did you say it because you heard it or or thought you saw what it’d represent? Then again, why does it keep raining when the sun is out, why do the clouds keep crying? Why do i toss and turn at night when I sleep, why do I even keep trying? Winter’s come and summer’s gone, we skipped a few seasons, but who loves the sun anyway?