If I'm too busy for you
I'm too busy for me
And that is unhealthy

Because perhaps in vain and vainity
We are the same?

Skilled at creating for someone else
At adapting for the US entirely

But could it be that within the entirety
That we lose the ability to see?

Like the blinders of love
Be they ever imposed
By this realization of who is me?

Perhaps we are the same indeed?
Perhaps one day you'd let me try
For you, as also you could for me?

Would you find me a girl with the bravery and boldness of a Coraline Jones's heart?
Not someone who demands my attentive love or the backing of a musical score.
But someone real.
Someone who knows every deep and dark and shallow fear.
Someone particular and peculiar.
Who perhaps I can make a cheese omelette for.

When it comes to fire
Within my arms
I will crash and burn and rebuild myself

Because I am
Because I was
And because I have yet to become someone else

All that I can be
All that I wasn't
All that I do is because I must

Its not owned by this
The want or wont
But because I will regret it if I don't

Maybe this summer?
Maybe these stars?
Will be the distant midnight fires
Which will look down upon this tired old heart
And rejoice as it falls
Endlessly
Stumbling upon the greatest love of all