This mundane heart, where my soul now lays
In the childhood bedroom where I used to play,
Hidden memories washed up by the past,
Trying to remember what I worked so hard to forget:
The illicit realization that my childhood has been auctioned off at lowest bid

the crescent brown that rests in his blue eyes,
holds a special kind of light;
This knowledge he holds,
from the struggles he has overcome,
he sees all the darkness the light has to offer,
The possibility that love can cut you open,
yet sees the good every time
those blue eyes have a darkness, specks,
you can hardly notice
only if you are able to look close enough;
The brown around your iris,
I will always admire,
Always and forever proud to call you mine

there we were at 5am,
was that the sun or the stars in our heads?

love is a strange thing,
It seems to always be defined
by the things we do
and the words we don’t say