Black boxes in a green room,
Propagating sounds he grew up to,
Rattling a snare drum rarely played,
Staring at a picture,
Drawn by the one he wished would've stayed,

Pages that have been turned 20 pages through,
Words by Poe and tales of Nancy Drew,
A childhood to look back on,
Time stamped in little squares,
In a box that remains unopened on his closet floor,

Drawing lines in the air with his fingertips,
Listening to the raindrops and the window they hit,
In a black room, laying on a black bed,
Covered in a patriotic blanket that he only likes for it's warmth,
Thinking about the signs he missed and the ones he misread,

Looking back on two months that have passed,
Tears that were shed for a romance that didn't last,
Friends were made, and so were mistakes,
But the lessons learned through eyes of madness,
Taught him to protect them no matter what was at stake,

Faced with a dying light,
You both stand with match stick in hand,
But you still remain lost, and undecided,
With nothing to strike it on,

You’re both aware of pain,
And the emptiness that comes in sillage,
But your future still lies,
In the understanding of one another,

You wait at her back door,
With a letter guided by pen and written in love,
In the hopes of new beginnings,
You want,
To be understood by the other and loved by no one else,

We all make mistakes,
And we second guess ourselves,
But it’s all in the hopes to find,
True love, in someone else,

She’s aware of your love,
But has questions for you and herself,
Whatever comes from this love that may dismiss,
Mature from it, and don’t lose yourself.