it seems like now a days you’re only holding me when it’s raining out.
maybe nothing is what it seems.
maybe i want it that way.
we are stranded on this island, and we’re in too deep.
it is subtle torture to be next to you,
and walk away.
if death is this, let’s make it pretty.
these things do exist —
i’ll grab a star and write its truths onto the softest parts of your skin, and some words will cut us deep, but i want those words too.
i’ll say, “i love you”,
i’ll put in my time,
and i’ll figure out if you’re real or fiction.
you love to create, right?
well hold onto me, and make sure i don’t go anyway.
which will guild me best in love — my heart or my mind?